The Fence
by winterhorses
Summary: Bella's childhood life isn't a happy affair, and Edward's is even worse. They're best friends, though the only interaction they can have is through a small hole in the fence separating their houses. As Edward's situation deteriorates in his teenage years, Bella wants nothing more than to ease his suffering. But first she has to deal with the struggles in her own life...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

* * *

My best friend is real quiet, even more than me, but I'm great at hide 'n seek. I always find her right away, but she never finds me. I'm the best hider ever. Sometimes I have to wait for hours, but it's okay. I never get bored.

My favorite hiding spot is between a big bush and our fence. There's plenty of room for me to sit or lie on my back. I can almost stand up! But not all the way 'cause then my head would poke out and she'd see me.

I keep my favorite things behind the bush, except for Ted-Ted, my stuffed bear. I took a container from the trash and cleaned it up so the paper things and crayons don't get wet when it rains. It's okay if my plastic animals and marbles and stuff get wet, though.

Sometimes my best friend plays there with me. I always share my toys, but she just watches a lot. She likes to watch me draw pictures and color them. I only have four crayons, but she doesn't care that my rainbows don't have all the right colors.

Today I'm drawing a bird. It's a blue one with a yellow beak and orange legs. Mama's asleep in the house, so I tell my friend all about the blue bird.

"This is a magical bird. It's five years old, just like me 'n you. It's magical 'cause it's very big and very strong. It can talk, and kids can climb on its back. We should give it a name. What should we call it?"

"Um, how 'bout 'George'?"

I stop coloring and look around my small space. Sometimes I talk to my friend, but she's never talked back to me before.

"No, 'George' isn't magical enough," I say.

"'Kay, what about, um…'Abracadabra'?"

I frown because my friend doesn't sound right. I look around again.

"How come you sound like a boy?"

"Um, 'cause I'm a boy."

"But you're supposed to be a girl. And you can't talk because you're not real."

"I'm…real."

The boy voice sounds very sad all of the sudden. I don't know what's happening, but I don't want anyone to be sad.

"Okay, you can be real. What's your name?"

"Edward." He still sounds sad.

"I'm Bella. Are you five like me?"

"Yes."

"Um, are you invisible?"

"No."

"Then how come I can't see you?"

"'Cause I'm on the other side of the fence."

* * *

 **So...I was going to enter the _Caveat Emptor: Maybe an HEA?_ contest, but I ran out of time to finish my entry. This will update every 2-3 days. I'll start out with short, flash-fic type chapters. Knowing me, they'll end up getting a lot longer, though, lol.**

 **I won't give away whether this will be an HEA or not. However, if you need any spoilers, feel free to send me a PM!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you SO much to Rob Attack for mentioning The Fence in Rita's Friday Fic Recs! I'm so thrilled that I'm double posting tonight!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

 _Kindergarten_

I'm supposed to be in bed, but I can't go to sleep 'til I talk to my new best friend. Mama's not home, anyway, so I won't get in trouble. I don't even have to tiptoe out of the house on my way to the big bush.

"Hey, Edward…are you there?" I smoosh my face onto the fence and try to see through the cracks. It's almost dark, but I can still see a little bit.

"Yeah." Edward's sitting on his side of the fence. He's got some bushes in his backyard, too. He likes to hide in them, same as me.

"Guess what! My mama won fifty dollars on a scratch ticket today! She was real happy and took me to the red shield store. Look—I got a backpack for school!" I hold my green backpack up to the fence so he can look at it. "It's got two zippers and a pocket on the side…see?" There's a pocket on the other side, too, but it's falling off. I don't tell him about that part.

"Yeah, I see."

I set the backpack down and look through the fence. Edward is quiet and sad a lot, but now he sounds like he's crying.

"What's wrong?" I crawl to another spot on the fence so I can see his face better. "How come your eye is all dark? Did you get hurt again?"

He sniffs and wipes his nose on his arm. "I…fell down...and knocked over a table."

"Oh. Is that why your dad was yelling at you today?"

Mama keeps the windows open when it's hot. I was eating a Pop-Tart for dinner when I heard Edward's dad yelling about something. Edward says his dad gets mad at him 'cause he's always falling down and knocking things over.

Edward sniffs again. "Yeah, that…that's what happened."

"Okay." I look at my green backpack and think about my first day of kindergarten tomorrow. "I wish you weren't gonna have school with your mama at home. Then you could sit with me on the bus."

"The bus is stupid," Edward says suddenly. Now he sounds mad. "So is your school. The teachers are gonna fill your brain up with crazy lies from the gov'nermit! They all hate God!"

"What?" I thought we were going to learn how to count and read books.

"It's true! My dad says…" Edward's voice makes a funny choking sound like he's crying again. Then he crawls out of the bush until I can't see him anymore. "You know what? Your school is stupid, and so are _you_."

* * *

 **Thanks so much for the amazing response to this little story! I'm truly humbled and love you all!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

 _Third Grade_

When I get off the bus after school, I go inside the house and get a snack. Mama's asleep with her bottles again, so I don't have to worry about being real quiet. She doesn't hear anything when she's sleeping.

The only homework I have is studying for a social studies test, and after I look over my worksheets, I'm all done. I take my notebook and pencil and go outside to the big bush.

I push away some branches and sit down in my favorite spot beside the fence. When I look through the secret hole, I don't see Edward, so I open my notebook and start drawing a butterfly.

I hope he comes today. He hasn't come to our spot for three days, and I have a lot to tell him. I get lonely sometimes when I don't see him for a long time.

After a while, I hear noises on the other side of the fence. Then I see part of Edward's face through the secret hole.

"Edward, you're back!"

I'm excited, but I don't talk too loud. Edward would get in trouble if his dad found out that we're friends. Edward's dad doesn't like me and Mama. He says Mama's got the Devil in her. He says I'm going to grow up like her and go to Hell, too. So Edward and I are secret best friends.

"How come you were gone so long this time?"

"Um…I got sick."

"Are you washing your hands enough? Mrs. Harding says we have to wash our hands because bacteria and germs get on them and make us sick. Or maybe a sick person coughed on you. Mrs. Harding says if we don't cover our mouths when we sneeze or cough, the germs will fly through the air and go in your lungs."

Edward doesn't say anything. He just sits and listens to me tell him about germs and bacteria and other things I learned from my teacher. I tell him about adding double digits and Ancient Egypt and the difference between _to_ and _too_. He likes to hear about what I learn because his Mama teaches him different things like how we all came from two people called Adam and Eve and how a man named Job had to get really sick to show how much he loved God.

"Hey, Bella…"

I stop in the middle of showing him the different parts of the flower I drew.

"Do you think you're really gonna go to…Hell?"

I move closer to the secret hole to see him better.

"I don't know. I don't want to. You said there would be fire and I'd burn up forever, right?"

He nods and looks sad. "That's what my dad said."

"Well, then I definitely don't want to go there."

Edward is quiet for a little while, so I pick up my notebook again.

But then he says something else.

"If you have to go to Hell, then I want to go there, too."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

 _Sixth Grade_

"I wanna a sandwich and a beer. Bring it in the bedroom, honey."

Greg slides his hand over my cheek and gives me a smile on his way out of the kitchen. I glare at his back and then start to make his stupid sandwich. Mama's probably passed out again. That means I'll also have to make dinner for him and Mama.

Greg is Mama's new boyfriend. Ever since she lost her job two years ago, she's been dating a lot of different men. Sometimes they help us out with bills, but most of the time, they just bring alcohol and drugs. Mama spends more time than ever in her bed. I have to do almost everything in the house. It's not so bad taking care of her, but I don't like it when her boyfriends order me around.

I take a ham sandwich and a Coors to Greg in the bedroom. I don't like him one bit. He's rolling some joints, and Mama is passed out on the bed. I'm glad he doesn't pay much attention to me as I put the plate on the nightstand and hurry out the door. He looks at me funny sometimes. I'm worried he might do something to me one day. Now I lock my bedroom door at night. I sleep with a steak knife under my pillow, too.

As soon as the kitchen is cleaned up, I grab a jacket and my homework and go to the backyard. It's a cold day in winter, but it doesn't matter. Anything is better than being in the house with Greg there.

The first thing I do when I get outside is look over at Edward's house. I always do that, even though the only thing I see is the roof and little pieces of the house through the holes in the privacy fence. The tall fence is pretty old, and it's starting to fall apart. Sometimes Edward's dad patches up a few of the rotted or broken areas, but then a storm comes and makes some more.

I look around to make sure no one's around, then I go to the bush and check behind it. Nothing's there. Just to make sure, I squeeze myself in the small space beside the fence and feel under the lowest branches. After I don't find anything there either, I lean in close to our secret hole. The only I see is the inside of the big evergreen bush in Edward's backyard.

There's nothing else to do but start on my homework. I crawl out of the bush and go to sit on the ground under a window. It'll be harder to see me if Greg looks out. I try to do my math, but I keep looking over at Edward's house instead. It's been two weeks since I saw him last, and six days since he sent a message through our hole behind the bushes.

I really hope he's okay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

 _Sixth Grade_

Edward and I don't talk about it, but I know his dad beats him a lot. He usually has bruises and cuts on his face and arms. I used to ask about them. He would always say that he fell or bumped into something. Once, when I was in fourth grade, Edward's wrist was really swollen and bruised. I told him he should go to the doctor but he freaked out and said that his dad didn't believe in hospitals. Edward made me promise never to tell anyone about his injuries. I don't think that's a good idea, but I promised because he looked so scared.

I wonder if Edward's mama cares about what happens to him. I don't see her very much, but I go to school all day. Does she beat him, too? Or does Edward's dad beat both of them? Edward changes the subject when I ask about her. He asks lots of questions about me but hardly ever talks about himself.

I don't mind answering his questions, though. He's pretty much the only person I talk to, except for two other girls at school. Heidi, Tanya, and I are shy around other students and not very popular, so we sit together at lunch. But we're not really close. Not like Edward and me.

At least, we used to be close. I've been seeing him a lot less in the past couple of months. When I ask him why he doesn't come to the fence as much or write me as many messages, he just says that he's got things to do and then asks me what I'm learning in class. I don't understand why he's so much busier now than before.

I sigh and look down at my homework. I'm supposed to solve for _x_ , but the only thing I want to figure out is what's going on with Edward. I'm worried about him, and I miss him so much. The happiest I ever feel is when we're spending together as we hide behind our bushes on either side of the fence.

My eyes start to burn. When drops of water fall on my paper, I think they're tears, but then there's a flash of lightning. I grab my things and go inside.

It's still raining later when I go to bed. I hate bad weather when Greg's staying over because it's harder for me to hear if he's moving around the house. But he's got a night shift at the factory tonight, so I don't mind the rain now. It drowns out the sound of Mama watching TV with the volume up high. We don't have cable, but Greg bought one of those antenna things so we can get a couple channels.

I fall asleep thinking about Greg and Mama and Edward and school. I'm in the middle of a good dream about being able to fly when some clicking noises wake me up. I grab the steak knife right away, but I don't move yet.

My heart's beating really loud, and that makes it hard to listen, even though it's not raining as much anymore. I don't hear the TV. Mama must've gone to bed if she turned it off instead of falling asleep on the couch like she usually does.

My door's still shut, so I lift my head up and look around the room. It's really dark, and I can't tell if anyone's there or not.

Then the noise comes again. It sounds like a tapping on my window. When I turn my head in that direction, I see a shadow through the small opening in the curtains.

It's in the shape of a person.

I'm getting ready to jump out of bed and run for the door when a flash in the sky lights up the room. I can see the face of the person outside my window.

It's a familiar person.

It's Edward.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

 _Sixth Grade_

Right away, I'm filled with happiness. I run over to the window to unlock it. Edward has to help me get it open because it's stuck pretty good. Then he climbs through it and falls on the floor. He's completely soaked with freezing cold rainwater.

I don't even care. I throw myself down beside him and give him the biggest hug ever. I squeeze him tight like I've wanted to for seven years.

I think he's in shock or something because he just sits there without moving. His arms are straight down by his side. When I finally realize he's not hugging me back, I let go of him and stand up as fast as I can.

"I'll get some towels," I say in a quiet voice. Then I rush to my door, unlock it, and peek into the hall. It's empty. I walk on my tiptoes to the bathroom and grab two clean towels from under the sink.

Before I go back into my room, I get one of Greg's undershirts and a pair of his boxers from the laundry basket. I don't know why Edward's here or how long he's going to stay, but I want to make sure he doesn't leave because he's too cold and wet. I wish he never had to leave.

Edward's closing the window when I come back in the room. I make sure to lock the door behind me and then hold out the towels and clothes to him. He stares at them for a few seconds before taking them, then glances at me.

When I finally understand what he's waiting for, I get really embarrassed.

"Okay, I'll just turn around so you can, um…yeah…"

Before this moment, Edward had always been "My Best Friend" in my head. Suddenly, I realize that he's also "A Guy"…and I'm "A Girl." It makes me feel strange. When he surprises me with a tap on shoulder after he's done dressing, I jerk away from him.

"What's wrong?" he asks in a quiet, hurt voice.

"N-nothing," I stutter, looking everywhere in the dark room except for his face. "But I should be asking you that. Is everything okay?"

His whole body seems to get smaller as he shakes his head slowly. "Nothing's ever okay."

I ignore the weirdness I feel and grab his hand to pull him to the bed. We sit down side-by-side on the mattress with our backs against the wall. He doesn't say anything right away, but I'm good at waiting, so we stare out the window and watch the rain fall. There's a small part of me that feels shivery because our knees are touching, but I'm mostly worried about why he came out in the storm, over the fence, and into my bedroom. It's got to be bad if he's risking getting in trouble.

"My mom's pregnant."

A thunderclap booms as the rain picks up again. I don't know what to say.

"Soon there's gonna be a baby in the house."

He's quiet for a while.

"Is your dad mad about it?" I ask.

Edward blows out air through his nose. "No, he's, like, really happy. He's wanted more kids ever since forever. When my mom never got pregnant, he'd…well, he said God was punishing her for being a sinner. He was always mad at her, and he'd, um…anyway, he was always mad. But I was just happy that no other kid would have to…I mean, he wouldn't be able to…to…but now there's gonna be…"

Edward hides his face in his arms, and I can't understand anything else he says. He stops making sounds, but then his shoulders start to shake up and down.

I don't know what to do, so I just put my hand on his back and rub some circles.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. I feel useless.

After what must be forever, he picks up his head and rests his chin on his knees. I wrap my arms around my own knees. We go back to watching the rain.

"I was gonna run away," he tells me. His voice sounds dead. "I've been hiding some money and stuff. But now…I can't leave a little kid to deal with him alone, you know? I just can't."

The crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning come quick now, and we stare outside some more. I want to be there for him, but my eyes start to close, and my head gets heavy. I lean it back against the wall, but it keeps sliding down on Edward's shoulder.

I don't know when I fall asleep, but when the morning sun wakes me up, I'm under my covers with my head on my pillow. I don't see Edward anywhere. At first, I wonder if it was all a dream. But then I find Greg's clothes and the two towels on top my tiny wood dresser. They're folded in a neat pile.

I walk over to the window that Edward climbed through. With last night's rain and this morning's sun, it looks like the trees and the overgrown grass in the backyard are covered with thousands of little sparkling drops of light. It looks like it should be a happy, peaceful scene.

I've never felt more hopeless.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

 _Eighth grade_

I haven't seen a lot of babies in person, but I think Mary Alice is one of the cutest. She's got black hair that sticks out in all directions, sort of like Edward's, and these dark brown eyes that go between being really wide open or kinda closed like she's squinting. The best part about her is that she's almost always happy. She smiles even when she can't do something, and that happens a lot.

"Come on, Merr-merr! Go get the leaves. Crawl to Edward!"

Edward is sitting in front of her and throwing some leaves in the air. Mary Alice reaches out her skinny little arms and makes squealing noises, but she doesn't try to get closer.

"Maybe put her on her belly again?" I say.

Edward frowns but he goes to Mary Alice and lays her down. Right away, she lifts up her chest and smiles at the gap in fence that I'm watching her through. I make funny faces at her while Edward goes to sit down again.

We try for a while to get Mary Alice to crawl. She just smiles and makes little wheezy breath sounds. Sometimes she waves her arms or kicks her legs, but that's it.

Finally, Edward gives her a cup of Cheerios and then brings her over to the fence. I can tell he's really frustrated and worried because his hands never stay still. He rips up the grass and tears leaves into pieces. I hate to see him this way, and he's been like this for months now.

"She could be taking longer 'cause she was born so early," I suggest. "I mean, look how little she is."

"She's also 16 months! Your book says she should be walking by now! But she doesn't crawl, or pull up on things, or even sit up by herself all that good. There's gotta be something wrong!"

He brings his arm back and then flings a handful of leaf pieces as hard as he can. They don't go very far. Most of them end up floating down to the ground right in front of him.

Like usual, I don't know what to tell him that will actually help. The baby books I checked out from the library say Mary Alice needs to see a doctor, but there's no way Edward's dad will let her go.

I sigh. "I know you don't want to, but maybe you should think again about—"

"No way!" Edward exclaims in a low, angry voice. "I told you, I'm not calling the cops! Dad said they'd take Merr-merr away, and I know that would just _kill_ Mom." He lowers his head. "She's not doing so good, as it is, and I gotta start my job soon."

Edward's mama, Esme, got really tired when she was pregnant with Mary Alice, and Edward said the church ladies thought she was going to die when Alice came so early. He said his dad didn't give her much time to get better, and she hasn't been normal ever since. When his dad goes to work, Edward does as much as he can so that she gets some rest.

But next month, he's not going to be around as much. His dad says he's old enough to start helping out in the church's publishing organization, where his dad works. Edward is worried how his mom is going to make it without him at home.

I usually don't argue when he says he won't tell anyone about his dad, but I think things are getting way too bad.

"Look, it'd be horrible if your family got separated or something, but what if something _worse_ happens? I mean, think about Merr-merr. What if she needs—"

"I KNOW, OKAY?" Edward yells. "Would you just shut up about it?"

I jerk back in surprise. He's never yelled at me before. At first I'm a little scared, and then I just feel hurt.

"Sorry," I mumble. I'm not sure if he can hear me through the fence.

But he does. The leaves rustle and crunch as he gets close to the boards to see me better.

"Darnit, Bella, no… _I'm_ sorry." He sounds sad now. "I shouldn't've yelled at you when you're just trying to help. It's just that I can't even think about…you know, if they took Merr-merr away, I couldn't… _argh!"_

Edward thumps his head against wood several times, and now I'm so upset about the situation that I want to yell at something, too.

Mary Alice just smiles as she eats her Cheerios.

* * *

 **Side note: I'm basing Edward's dad's religious beliefs loosely off the church-dominated way of life my own mom grew up in. I won't give the name of the very real church, but they were hard-core orthodox. Women tended house, and the husband's word was law (unless it conflicted with the Bible). No makeup or jewelry allowed, dresses had to cover the ankles. Going to the hospital was highly discouraged.**

 **My grandmother once got in a car wreck while coming to pick me up from a piano lesson. She suffered serious injuries including a punctured lung and several broken bones. I was 7 and remember her crying from the ambulance that she didn't want to go to the hospital. I didn't understand the severity of her condition and screamed at my mom not to make her go. Phew.**

 **Anyhow, I hear the church has relaxed its "rules" quite a bit these days, and for the most part, I remember them being a group of kind, loving people. In the case of Edward's dad, he takes their old-school values about twenty steps too far.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

 _Eighth grade_

"Are you _sure_ your dad's not gonna come back early?"

Edward climbs as fast as he can and slides the window down once he's in my room.

"Yeah, but I'd better hurry anyway—just in case Merr-merr wakes up. I think another tooth is coming in, so she hasn't been sleeping all that good."

"Okay, give me one sec!"

The box I get from the back of my closet isn't wrapped, but I did put some Christmas stickers on it. Edward is pulling a small paper bag out of his coat pocket. I'm excited to see what he thinks of the present I got for him, so I make him go first. He opens the lids of the box and finds a mess of paper towels at the very top. When he starts taking them out, a small bag of Hershey's Kisses falls into his lap.

"Chocolate!" There's a huge smile on his face, and he doesn't waste a second ripping the bag open. He takes out a handful.

"Uh, want some?"

I can tell he's only being polite and doesn't really want to give up any of his contraband. I shake my head and rattle the box that's sitting beside him.

"Keep going," I say, bouncing on the mattress a little. "There's more!"

With his mouth stuffed full of chocolate, he digs through the wrinkled paper towels and takes out a smaller, more colorful box. His eyes grow wide when he figures out what it is.

"Oh my G-…I mean, wow, this is the _entire_ set! How did you..?"

"Eh, you know..." I shrug. "I saved my babysitting money and took a few other random jobs." There's no need to mention that I did my classmates' homework for the cash I needed to buy the used _Harry Potter_ paperback boxed set.

"Wow, Bella, this is so…I don't even know what to say…"

Edward seems to be tripping over his tongue as he tries to put his gratitude into words, and I feel a little embarrassed. It wasn't _that_ big of a deal.

"I can keep it here if you want so you only have to hide one book at a time instead of the whole thing," I offer, trying to distract him. I don't think it was the right way to do it, though, because now he's just staring at me.

"Um, what?" I ask.

He shakes his head, and I'm trying to figure out what's going on when he sort of lunges forward and grabs me in a tight hug. I let out a grunt as the air is squeezed out of my chest, and then the pressure is gone as fast as it came. Edward jumps away from me and scoots to the end of the bed.

I can see his red face in the low light of my bedside lamp, but I don't understand why he reacted like that. We haven't spent a lot of time together without the fence between us, but it's not like we haven't hugged before.

Then I notice his hands spread out over his lap.

Oh.

 _Oh._

I look away quickly and try to act normal, even though my head's thinking all kinds of things now. I don't know a whole lot about guys and sex and all that, but even though I haven't talked to anybody about it, I _am_ in eighth grade at a public school. I've heard and seen enough there to know the basics. I've also heard and seen plenty at home with all the men Mama's had over.

A kid in middle school would pretty much have to be living in a cave not to know that guys think about sex, like, all the time. Everyone knows that teen guys, especially, get hard-ons for any reason and sometimes for no reason at all. But I'm sure it's still crazy embarrassing when it happens at a bad time, and if you think about it, poor Edward pretty much _has_ been living in a cave. He might not get that I know what happened and that it's totally normal.

"Hey, there's one more thing in the bottom of the box!" I blurt out. There's just way too much weirdness going on in my bedroom in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, and I need it to be over.

Edward looks relieved and grabs the box to put it on his lap. He reaches inside and takes out a kids' board book called _Baby Jesus is Born_.

"I thought Merr-merr would like the pictures, and it's about God and stuff, so your dad should be okay with it, right?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it'll be fine," Edward says with a smile. "She's gonna love it for sure. Thanks _so_ much for all this. It's perfect." Then he starts fiddling with a paper towel sheet. "I'm sorry my present's not as good. I wanted to buy something for you, but—"

"No—I'm gonna love anything you got for me!" I pick up the paper bag and hold it up. "Can I open it now?"

When he nods, I unfold the top and stick my hand inside. It comes out with a bunch of skinny but long rectangles made of out some sort of clear plastic—laminating sheets, maybe? Inside the plastic are different kinds of dried flowers and petals.

"Since you read a lot, I thought you might like these bookmarks," he explains quietly. "They have a greenhouse at the church, and I collected the flowers that had been knocked off the plants."

"You made these?" I take my time looking at each of the five bookmarks. "They're so pretty!"

"I, um, made the other thing in the bag, too."

Soon I'm staring at my palm, which is holding a delicate wood carving of a swan with its wings fluffed over its back.

"This is _way_ better than _Harry Potter_ ," I murmur. "Thanks, Edward. It's amazing."

His face gets even redder, and then the weirdness is back. We both look at anything but each other for a minute, then Edward stands up from the bed.

"I should probably go," he mumbles. "Need to check on Merr-merr and all…"

After he puts the board book, the bag of Kisses, and his copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ in the pockets of his jacket, I follow him over to the window.

"Well, um, thanks for the presents," he says as he fiddles with the zipper pull of his still-open jacket.

"Yeah…" The word comes out sort of funny, so I clear my throat and try again. "Yeah, and thanks for mine. I love them. Hope you and Merr-merr have a great Christmas. Your mama, too." Of course I don't mention the man we both hate.

"Okay, well…'night."

Edward turns around pushes up the window. I take a step closer so that I can watch him get across the fence safely. Just when I think he's about to climb through, he spins around to look at me. His eyes are wide and kind of scared-looking. I get a little freaked out by his nervous expression.

"What? Is there something—"

My voice cuts out as Edward leans in and quickly smashes his lips against my cheek. His nose pokes into me, but I'm too surprised to realize that it stings just a little bit. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on when pulls back and scrambles out the window.

"M-merry Christmas, Bella."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

 _Eighth grade_

I don't realize Tanya is trying to get my attention until she waves her hand in front of my face. I blink rapidly and try to keep my tears from falling.

"Oh my God, Bella, what's wrong?" Heidi asks in a quiet but worried voice.

I shake my head and then wipe away the wetness from my eyes. "Nothing. I'm just not, um, feeling well."

Tanya stares at me and frowns. "Have you seen a doctor? You've been kinda out of it for the past week."

"I'm fine, really," I insist, but then a tear runs down my cheek. Her mention of seeing a doctor hits too close to the actual problem.

Heidi and Tanya press me a little more, and then it's too much. I really want to talk to someone about what's going on, and other than Edward, they're the only people I'm friendly with. And for once, I can't go to Edward because he's part of the problem. Sort of.

I tell them the basics but leave out names and stuff like that. I've got a friend with a little sister. She's almost two, and though she's finally started taking steps on her own, she still has a lot of balance problems. My friend is also worried about her eyesight and hearing, but their dad won't take her to the doctor because of his religion. She's never been checked at out all.

Heidi and Tanya react with disbelief and concern. Heidi thinks I should make an anonymous call to CPS.

"But Ed—…er, my friend, is worried about his sister being taken away—and maybe him, too."

"What if that's for the best?" Tanya asks. "I mean if the dad won't let his kids go to the doctor, who knows what else is going on in the house?"

I wince as I think about Edward's latest bruise on his face. I'm certain about _some_ of the things that are happening in that house.

We talk about it for the rest of our lunch period, but it isn't until several days later that I make up my mind. I can't say for sure if Edward or Mary Alice is in serious danger, like the kind that might kill them, but they don't seem to be. Unless that's the case, I just can't go against what Edward wants. He might hate me for that. He's the one in the situation, so who am I say I know better? Besides, there's no guarantee they wouldn't end up in a worse place.

I'm still worried, of course, but I try not to think about it much. And I don't, until I'm riding the bus home one day and see an unfamiliar car parked in the Masens' gravel driveway. There's a lady in a business suit with a clipboard in her hands. She's talking to Esme, who's holding a smiling Mary Alice close to her chest. Edward's mom looks really nervous, especially when the lady gives her a blue folder. By the time I'm getting off the bus, the business suit lady is climbing into her car.

Esme seems to be dazed until she looks up at the sound of my bus driving off. She sees me staring at her from just inside my yard, and then her eyes get really big like she's shocked. I wonder if I should risk going over there to ask if she's okay, but she takes a step back and quickly shuts the front door before I can decide what to do.

It feels like forever until Edward gets home from his job, and I spend the entire time freaking out. I'm hoping that the lady was some random salesperson or something like that, but I'm so afraid she might be from Social Services. Could Heidi or Tanya have called them without telling me? But how would they have even known I was talking about Edward? I didn't give them his name or where he lived.

I walk back and forth along the fence for like two hours until an old black car pulls into Edward's driveway. Edward and his dad get out and go into the house. I run to our secret hole, hoping that he'll come out soon so I can talk to him.

But then I hear a loud crash, and his dad starts yelling. It's pretty windy outside, so I can't tell exactly what he's saying, but it's obvious that he's pissed off. There are a couple more crashes, and Mary Alice starts screaming and crying. She hardly ever cries.

After a short while—fifteen minutes, maybe?—I can't hear his yelling anymore. Mary Alice is quiet now, too. I'm really worried about what happened and wish I could go over there to make sure everyone's okay. It's too risky to get caught sneaking in his backyard during the day, though, and I don't want to make things worse for Edward by showing up on his front doorstep with some lame excuse about needing to borrow eggs or whatever.

All I can think of to do is hope that Edward comes to the fence later or visits my bedroom after dark. I stay up all night and wait for him, but he never comes. He doesn't come that night or the next, or the one after that.

For many days, I don't see or hear from him at all.

* * *

 **Sorry I didn't post over the weekend! My kiddo had her 9th birthday party, and RL was busy! This week's also looking a little rough with end-of-school parties and all, but hopefully I won't go longer than a day between updates...**

 **Thanks so much for reading, and now I'm off to deal with a 20+ hyper kindergarteners, gulp!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

I should've known that Heidi and Tanya would figure out I was talking about Edward. I've mentioned once or twice that I'm close to my next-door neighbor, and it's not like I have a lot of other friends. So, after the girls heard my story, they put in an anonymous call to CPS. They didn't tell me about it until I asked because they were afraid I'd be mad.

They were right.

I was really mad.

But after two days of not talking to them, I let it go. They were just trying to do the right thing. They only kept it quiet to help me out with Edward, so I could say I honestly didn't know anything about the call.

I've learned more about CPS, though. Heidi invited Tanya and me to her house—the first time I'd ever gone to someone else's place—and we used her computer to research the agency and their procedures. What we found out was good and bad, depending on how you look at it. According to some forum posts and blogs, CPS doesn't like to take kids out of their homes or away from their parents. Even if that does happen, it probably won't be permanent. Sounds like most agencies are overworked and under-funded, so the situation has to really serious and obvious for CPS to do anything major.

Personally, I think Edward and Mary Alice's situation _is_ that serious, but I don't know how obvious it would be to a CPS worker who doesn't have the right to go in a house or talk to anyone without a court order. Somehow, I can't see Edward's parents letting them get a look at their family life without one. To make matters worse, I learned that parents can refuse medical treatment for their kids based on religious reasons unless there's worry of death or permanent harm. I don't know if Mary Alice's issues are bad enough for that, but how can anyone know if she's never checked out by a doctor?

It's looking like the only thing that came out of calling CPS was trouble for the family. I don't know how Edward's dad reacted to it all, but I'm positive Edward didn't escape without some sort of punishment.

It's been three weeks now that I haven't seen him…or any of the Masens, for that matter. The curtains are closed, the house is dark, and the car isn't in the driveway—even after working hours. Every day that the weather's nice, I go outside after school and look for any sign of them. When school lets out for the summer, I watch from the porch every free moment I have between chores and babysitting. My day isn't as busy now that Mama's between boyfriends. She just broke up with Greg again for like the fourth time. I'm glad about that because he was getting way too handsy.

I put Greg's creepiness out of my mind and go back to my usual worried thoughts of Edward as I sit on the porch and stare out at the street. The sun gets lower in the sky, but I barely pay attention to my surroundings. I don't look at kids playing in the yard across from mine, or the birds searching the grass for bugs, or all the cars that drive past. But when one slows down in front of my house, I blink my eyes and focus on it.

It's old and black.

It's very familiar.

It's theirs.

If I wasn't so surprised to _finally_ see the family of four, I probably would've jumped up and run to the car out of relief. That, of course, would have been Not Good, so I'm glad that I end up just sitting on the stoop with my mouth hanging open.

Mr. Masen is driving, and his wife is sitting in the passenger seat. Edward is in the back behind his dad, and he's staring at me as they go by.

No, he's _glaring_ at me.

He's never given me such a hateful look. It cuts me up inside. I feel like I'm exploding in pain and withering away at the same time. I want to gasp at the hurt, but I'm still frozen in place.

I watch as the family files out of the car after parking in their driveway. Edward's dad marches straight into the house like he's trying to invade a country or something. Esme gathers up Mary Alice from her car seat and carries her to the front door. The two-year-old points to all the things she passes and blurts out their names in her enthusiastic little soprano. I'm beyond relieved that she seems to be the same happy kid she was the last time I saw her.

Edward goes to the trunk when he gets out of the car. His shoulders are slumped, and he keeps his eyes on the ground, even as he drags two big suitcases behind him. I'm dying to hug him but can't even take a chance saying hello from across our yards. After that angry glare he shot at me, I doubt he wants to talk, anyway.

He closes the door when he gets inside the house, and as soon as my brain comes back online, I rush to my bedroom to start writing another note. It doesn't say anything much different than the other four I've pushed through the hole over the past few weeks, but it's the closest I can come to actually having a conversation with him.

And once again, even though he's back home now, all I can do is wait.

With Edward, sometimes it seems like that's all I ever do—wait for something to happen so I can react to it.

The next two weeks are the longest I've ever had. I think I check behind the bush at least fifty times, but there's never anything for me. My messages to Edward are still lying on the ground in a pile on his side of the fence. I don't know which is worse: not hearing from him because he's gone or knowing that he's home but is ignoring me on purpose.

Eventually, I start to wonder if that's his way of saying he doesn't want to be friends anymore. Did he end eight years of friendship because of something I didn't even do? I know I shouldn't have run my mouth about his situation to anyone else, but it's not like I was the one who made the call.

If I wasn't sure Edward would get in trouble for it, I'd go to his house and refuse to leave until he explained what was going on. I'd make him listen to my side of the story, and then I'd beg for forgiveness. But I've caused enough mess already. Maybe I'm getting what I deserve; maybe losing Edward is my punishment for betraying him.

I think about all these things as I sit on the front porch and stare out at the world around me. It's become my new favorite way to spend time. I get caught up watching people going about their lives around me. It's like I'm a viewer on the set of a familiar reality show. I follow the story, but I don't interact with the people in the show. And they, of course, don't realize I'm there at all. Heck, even my own mama walks by me without saying a word unless it's to ask about dinner.

That's why I'm surprised when a man stops in front of me early one afternoon.

"Hello, Miss," he says politely. "Is your mom or dad home?"

"Why do you wanna know?" I ask in a cautious tone. In his jeans and golf shirt, he looks more like a salesman than a person on some sort of official business, but I know better than to give away info like that.

The man smiles and holds out a business card stapled to a flyer. "I'm with CBW Landscaping. We've been contracted by the city to plant street trees in the grass easement between the sidewalk and the street." He nods to the paper in my hand. "That lists the day we'll be by your house, and we ask that the work area is cleared of any parked cars or other obstructions."

I give him a little nod just to show I heard. We haven't had a car since Mama's was repo'd a few years back.

"Alright, Miss. If you could make sure your parents get that, I'd really appreciate it. If there are any questions or concerns, our contact information is on the card. Feel free to—"

He stops talking at the sound of a nearby door being thrown open and smacking against something. We both turn our heads toward the noise, and what I see makes me cold with fear.

Edward steps out onto his front porch. He looks straight at me with a panicked look on his face.

His hands and the white tee shirt he's wearing are stained with dark red.

Blood red.

* * *

 **I'm so sorry I'm failing at review replies right now! I use the free time I have to write more...**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

I don't care if Edward's mad at me right now. I don't care if I shouldn't step into his yard. I don't care that the landscaping man is looking back and forth between me and Edward with a worried expression. Heck, I wouldn't even care if Mr. Masen himself was standing in front of me.

Nothing is going to stop me from going to Edward.

"Oh my God, what happened?" I yell, sprinting to his front door.

"It's Mom…she fell down the stairs…won't wake up…I don't know what to do!" He grabs my hand the minute I reach the porch and pulls me inside. "Please, Bella, help her!"

Another sound registers—Mary Alice is crying hysterically. I don't know how I didn't notice it before.

"Where's Merr-merr? Did she get hurt, too?" I gasp as Edward leads to me a dark set of basement stairs. I can just make out Esme's shape at the bottom.

"She's fine except for being scared. Mom was screaming as she fell and then just…stopped."

"Where's the light switch for the basement?"

Edward and I spin around at the question. Neither of us had realized that the landscaping man followed us into the house. Edward looks terrified that he's with us, but I'm just happy to have help.

"Edward, the lights?" I repeat, trying to get him to snap out of his daze.

"Th-there isn't any," he stutters. "I mean, there is, but all the bulbs are burnt out."

The man frowns, then pulls out his phone. He makes a few taps and it shines like a flashlight.

"Miss, why don't you check on the little one?" He puts a hand on Edward's shoulder. "You follow behind me, okay, son?"

Edward takes a deep breath and nods. After a quick glance at me, he starts down the rickety wooden steps after the man and his light.

It's not hard for me to find Mary Alice. Edward's house is not much bigger than mine, and Mary Alice is making a really loud noise. Just off the kitchen is a tiny hallway with three doors. I open one and find myself looking into a small room with a crib, a twin bed, and a set of drawers.

"Beh! Beh…Beh…Beh-wa!" Mary Alice yells out my name in the middle of her crying fit. She's sitting up in her crib and beating her fists against the rails.

"That's right, Merr-merr, it's Bella. I'm so glad to see you again, little cutie." After I lift her into my arms, she burrows her head right into my shirt and whimpers. I walk around the room for a couple minutes until she calms down.

Now that she's quiet, I can make out the sound of a voice coming from the basement. It's the landscaping man.

"…not comfortable with taking that risk. She could have a spinal injury. We need to call an ambulance, son."

"No, _please_ , you don't understand. It's against his…uh, our religion to go to hospitals. I know she'd rather risk being moved than have an ambulance come. Please, just help me take her upstairs. That's all I'm asking. Then you can leave if you need to."

I can hear Edward's desperation in his voice.

There's complete silence for a few moments; it seems like even Mary Alice is holding her breath so she can listen to the man's answer.

"Alright, fine," he finally responds. "But your mom better not sue me for this when she wakes up." He lets out a dry laugh, and I think he's only half-joking.

I know it would be better to keep Mary Alice away from the sight of her knocked out mama, but I really want to find out how Edward's doing. And though I hate that such a terrible event is putting us together again, I don't want to waste a second of my time with him.

For once, something goes my way. Mary Alice's eyes start to close and her breathing becomes slower. All the excitement and crying probably tired her out. She doesn't put up a fuss when I lay her back down in her crib.

I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs as I close the bedroom door on a fast-asleep Mary Alice. The man is talking to Edward as if he's trying to keep him calm.

"Just so you know, cuts on the head, face, or mouth can bleed more. She'll probably look worse than she actually is, so try not to get upset, okay? I'll get her to the couch, and it would be helpful for you to gather up any first aid supplies you have."

"Um, we might have a few bandages around," Edward mutters. "But that's about it…"

"If you don't have antiseptic and gauze, warm soapy water and paper towels will have to do."

I rush into the living room to see Edward hurrying off to the kitchen and Esme being laid down on the couch. My hand covers up a gasp at the sight of all the blood on her face. There is a line of red trailing from the side of her mouth, but the largest amount seems to have come from a gash at the hairline near her temple. The man holds a yellow dishrag to the wound with one hand while the other brushes long tangled strands of hair away from her face.

He glances up me as I come closer to the couch.

"Your friend's mom really needs to be seen by a professional," he murmurs. "The only reason I didn't go ahead and make the call is because I've heard about the church his family goes to. Not all the members strictly follow the church teachings, though. If I talked to his dad, do you think I'd a chance of convincing him to let her get some help?"

I shake my head sadly. "Mr. Masen's probably stricter than the preachers themselves. He's going to freak out just knowing that we're helping her at all." My eyes get wide as I realize what I just said. "Oh no! Edward's going to get in so much trouble for us being in here. And if his dad comes home soon…"

"He's at an all-night prayer meeting, so we should be okay for now," Edward interrupts as he hurries into the living room, splashing soapy water on the floor with each step. "Is she awake yet?"

"No, and if we don't get her to a—" The man shuts his mouth abruptly and then lets out a sigh. "Set the bowl over here and hand me the paper towels. I'm going to take a better look at this wound."

"So you'll stay and help?" Edward asks hopefully.

"I only know basic first aid, but I'll do what I can."

The man carefully lifts up the dishrag from the side of Esme's head. The cut is long and gapes open a little bit. Fresh blood begins to well up from inside the gash. He dabs it away with a paper towel and quickly tries to check out the damage before more blood can hide it again.

"Thankfully, I was right," he says at last. "This one's not as bad as you might think, considering all the blood. But it looks like it needs stitches, and then there's the possibility that she might have internal bleeding or broken bones or—"

"I already told you no!" Edward cries out, grabbing my hand like he needs support or something like that. "There's not gonna be any hospitals!"

The man makes a low rumbly noise like a growl but nods his head anyway. "Yes, yes, I understand. She can't go to a hospital. Now, show me what kind of bandages you have, and I'll try to close up this cut."

I have to force myself to loosen my fingers when Edward lets go of my hand. He glances at me and gives a sad-looking smile. He doesn't say anything, but I'm really hoping it's the start of us being friends again.

An hour later, Esme's situation seems better. Except for what's on her shirt, all the blood has been cleaned up, including the drops on the basement floor. The man went out and bought some sort of liquid bandage glue and some more Band-Aids. He wanted to use the butterfly kind, but Edward said only the normal oval-shaped ones could be used. He didn't want his dad to get suspicious about where they came from.

Esme has another cut inside her lip, but there's nothing we can do about that. She's moving her arms and legs a little and making some sounds, which the man is happy about. Edward hopes she wakes up before his dad comes home in the morning.

I can tell the landscaping man doesn't want to leave while Esme's still knocked out, even though it's getting late. He also tries to find out more about what their life is like—says he just wants to help, promises not to alert the authorities. He seems honest enough to me, but Edward shakes his head and refuses to talk about it.

Edward _had_ listened to my explanation about the CPS issue, though. When the man left on his supply run, I'd launched into my story, not leaving out a single detail. Edward's face stayed sort of blank as his listened, but when it was his turn to say something, I had a good feeling he was going to forgive me. Of course, that was the exact moment the man came back from the drug store, and then it was down to business again.

It's after ten p.m. when the man finally decides to leave. I glance at Edward to see if he wants me to go, too. My heart nearly explodes with happiness when he reaches out his pointer finger and hooks it around mine.

We walk to the door with the man, who keeps glancing back at Esme with a worried frown on his face. He lifts up a hand and grabs the hair at the back of his neck. I don't know why, but he looks a lot younger all of the sudden.

"Is there some time I can come back and see how she's doing? Or can you at least let me know if her situation changes, either for better or worse?" He points to the long-forgotten flyer I'd stuffed in my back pocket. "All my contact info is on there."

"Maybe," Edward says reluctantly. "I mean, I can't do it, but maybe Bella will be able to."

I nod like I'm taking some sort of important oath, and the man looks a little relieved.

"Thank you. And listen, while you haven't told me much about your situation, I want you to know…well, if you ever need anything— _anything_ —don't hesitate to contact me, okay? You, too, Bella."

Edward looks surprised when the man gently squeezes his shoulder. We both watch from the porch as his tall figure walks down the sidewalk and eventually disappears out of sight around a corner.

"Huh," I say as the thought occurs to me. "You know, I never did find out that guy's name." I pull out the flyer to look at business card, but Edward's already answering.

"It's Carlisle," he mutters, pulling me inside his house and shutting the door. "Carlisle Cullen."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

 _Between eighth and ninth grade_

I'm not sure if Edward's still holding my hand on purpose or if he's too caught up in everything to think about it. Either way, I'm not complaining. We both sit on the floor in front of Esme and wait. Every so often, he touches her arm or shoulder to try waking her up. I get more worried every time nothing happens. Edward looks like he's about to lose it.

"So, uh, that guy seemed pretty nice, don'cha think?" I say, trying to distract him a little.

"I guess. I'm just hoping he keeps his promise not to tell anyone." Edward glances at me and frowns.

I know exactly what he's thinking.

"I'm so so sorry about talking to my friends. Please don't hate me forever," I beg. I want to cry just saying the words.

"I won't…I mean, I don't. I never did." His forehead scrunches up. "Yeah, I was mad, especially at first. I thought it was you who called. And then when Dad took us away…"

"Where did you go? I was so worried…"

Edward scowls. "Our church has a place in the woods we use as a retreat. No electricity or running water…it's like camping but with a lot of praying and Bible reading."

"But you were gone for three weeks…"

"Like I said, there was _a lot_ of praying _._ "

We laugh, and suddenly things are okay again. I let out a big sigh of relief. I have so many questions but don't want to make him more upset. Instead, I tell him a simple truth.

"I missed you."

He doesn't say anything right away; he just looks down at our joined hands. After a while, I feel all weird and self-conscious, and my palm starts to sweat. I need to wipe it off, but that would mean letting go. Besides, it looks like he's thinking really hard about something, and I don't want to break his concentration.

"Bella," he says at last, "even when I was really mad, I...I missed you, too."

Then he looks up at me, and my heart starts beating faster. I've always cared about Edward and liked him. But after he kissed me on the cheek last Christmas, I realized I like him more than just a friend. That feeling's been getting even stronger over the past six months. I want him to kiss me again—and not on the cheek this time.

His eyes seem to be getting bigger, and then I see it's because we're leaning toward each other. I hold my breath, and close my eyes, and move in even closer…

...until a sound startles us both.

Esme groans and raises a hand to her head. The moment's forgotten as Edward climbs off the floor to sit on the couch beside her.

"Mom? Can you hear me?"

She makes some more low sounds, and her eyes flutter open. I think she sort of looks like Sleeping Beauty waking up after all those years.

"Edward?"

It takes a few minutes for her to understand what happened. Edward has to explain more than once how she fell down the badly-lit stairs and hit her head. He tells her about the cut but doesn't mention the landscaping man. That's probably a good thing because she looks like she's going to pass out all over again when she realizes I'm in the house.

"What's she doing here?" she asks, her voice not much more than a whisper. "If your father finds out…"

"I needed help, and I was…I was scared about you." He seems ashamed to admit it, like he regrets not being tough enough or something crazy like that.

Esme's eyes get watery. She sits up slowly and puts her arms around her son.

"Thank you, honey. Thank you for taking care of me. You always do such a good job of that."

I can tell Edward's a little embarrassed by the praise, so I stick around just long enough to see her get up and walk okay. It's obvious she's nervous about me being there. And even though it's hard to let go of Edward's hand when I'm walking out his door, I'm also relieved to be going home. Based on their fear and the bruises I've seen, I imagine Mr. Masen's anger is a terrible thing.

I have no desire to see it for myself.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

 _Between eighth and ninth grade_

The good thing about druggies is that they're pretty low maintenance. Not that I've ever had a pet, but I imagine Mama needs more care than a cat but less than a dog. And as a bonus, she works to earn money for her keep—most of the time, anyway.

Looking out for her doesn't take away much from my day. Since I have to eat, too, I just give her whatever I'm having: cereal, PB&J, ramen, stuff like that. She's a waitress, so she usually has a meal at work. Sometimes, she even brings home leftovers from the kitchen.

When she's not at the restaurant, she's either asleep or high. Since Greg's not in the picture right now, weed's pretty much all she does. I'm not sure how she goes on and off the hard stuff without getting seriously addicted, but I'm not complaining.

Other than feeding her and making sure she gets to work on time—showered and in clean clothes—she doesn't need much else from me. Well, I pay bills whenever there's enough money and take care of the house, but those are things I'd have do if I was on my own, anyway.

The three families I babysit for hardly ever need me on Sundays, so that's when I do laundry. The morning after coming back from Edward's I decide to wash all the bedding. It's definitely more useful than staring at his house and wondering what's going on inside. I wish I knew. Though his dad's car isn't back in the driveway yet, there's no way I can risk going over to find out how Esme's doing.

I strip the beds and start a load of sheets. The washer and dryer are ancient—part of the house Grandpop left us when he died—but at least I don't have to go to the laundromat. The washer swishes and thumps loudly as I fold the finished clothes in the dryer.

The noise fills my ears in the small basement and drowns out sounds from anywhere else in the house. That's why I'm surprised to come upstairs and hear my mama talking to someone at the front door. She sounds weirdly upbeat and almost…flirty?

It makes a lot more sense when I see the blond hair of the landscaping man over her head. She's always on the lookout for a new sugar daddy. What I don't get is why he's at my house at 11 a.m. on a Sunday.

Mama's going on about the nice weather. The man's expression looks interested enough in what she's saying, but his fingers are tapping impatiently against his thigh. His eyes glance around the living room like he's searching for something—me, probably, because they brighten up when they land on my face.

"Bella!" he says right away, cutting Mama off and causing her to turn around and glare at me.

"Hey, Mister, um…Cullen?"

"Or Carlisle, whichever you prefer." He looks back and forth between me and Mama. "Your mom and I were just talking about my company's plan to start on your street tomorrow.

"Okay?" I have no idea where he's going with this.

"And I was about to tell her how, when you and I spoke yesterday, you mentioned being interested in horticulture. I'll be onsite supervising tree placement, so if you've got some time, we can chat about plant care and such."

He gives me a significant look that seems a little obvious, but Mama doesn't notice. She's too busy checking him out and pouting out her lips.

"Um, actually, are you busy now?" I ask, guessing that he's anxious for an update. "Maybe we could take a walk around the neighborhood or something. You can tell me about the different types of trees in people's yard."

"Now would be great," he replies with a relieved smile. "Is that okay with you, Ms.…?

"I told you, silly man, just call me Renee." She touches him on the arm and gives him what I think is supposed to be a seductive look. "I'll put on some shoes, and then we can go."

"You need to get ready for your shift at noon, Mama." I see her open her mouth to protest and continue quickly. "Didn't your boss say he was going to cut your hours if you missed another day?"

"What? How'd you hear that?"

"You told me." No need to mention in front of Carlisle that she was strung out when she said it. "I washed your work clothes. They're folded on top of the dryer, so…"

"Oh, how sweet of you," she says, looking at Carlisle the whole time. Her voice is too loud, and her tone is too fake.

I roll my eyes. I'm pretty sure a guy like him isn't going to fall for such bad acting.

"There's a container in the fridge if you want to eat before you go," I say, making my way to the door. "Hope you have a good day at work."

"It was nice to meet you, Renee." Carlisle follows me outside without waiting for Mama to respond. He must have realized that sticking around was a bad idea.

We don't say anything until we turn a corner and can't see the house anymore. I jump right to the news I know he wants to hear.

"Ms. Masen seemed to be okay last night when I left. Woke up and was a little out of it for a while, but then she stood up and walked around."

"Thank goodness," Carlisle says. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes for a few seconds. "How did Edward hold up?"

There's no holding back the goofy smile on my face when I think about my best friend. "He was taking it pretty bad until she came to, but then he was great. They were both happy that everything can go back to normal."

My expression falls as I say the words. There's nothing great about their "normal." Nothing to be happy about.

"The father abuses them, doesn't he." It's not a question. "Edward seemed so afraid, and I noticed marks on both of them."

My mouth stays shut; I've learned my lesson about sharing too much. Even if this man could magically fix everything, I won't ever betray Edward's trust again.

Carlisle doesn't seem to notice I'm not talking. He keeps going, like he's thinking out loud.

"They shouldn't have to live like that. I wonder what's keeping her with him. Maybe if I knew, I could figure out something that would tempt her to leave. Has he threatened her? Actually, I'd be surprised if he hasn't. Money could be an issue, especially with kids. I could help with that, find some place for them to stay that's not nearby. I wonder if she shares the same religious views or would consider going to a doctor…"

As much as I'd like to believe he wants to help Edward's family, it doesn't make sense to me. A person doesn't go that far out of his way for others he just met. Not that I've ever heard of, anyway.

"Why are you so interested in them?" I ask, cutting off his rambling. "What's in it for you?"

Carlisle stops walking and gives me a strange look. "Nothing's 'in it' for me. How would there be, and why would you think that?"

"You didn't know any of them until last night, and all of the sudden you want to give them money, a place to stay…take them to a doctor? It's not like you're a social worker or anything, and I'm pretty sure even _they_ wouldn't do the things you're saying."

His hand goes to the hair at the back of his head like it did yesterday. He looks nervous or embarrassed.

"I swear I only want to help. As for why, well, I don't know exactly…when I saw that poor boy standing on the porch looking terrified…and he was so worried about his mom…she was so thin and weak and just… _broken_ …" He pulls on his hair and then lets his hand drop to his side in frustration. "I can't stop thinking about them, and it physically hurts when I imagine what it must be like to live that way."

"But why them? I mean, do you go around trying to save every person who has a rough life?"

He tilts his head a little as he gives me some sort of weird half-grin. "How old are you, Bella? You don't look much older than twelve or thirteen, but you act more mature than some adults I know."

I'm both surprised and happy about the compliment, but I don't let him sidetrack me. When it comes to Edward, I'm a pit bull.

"You better not go back on your word and call Social Services. Edward and his mama don't want them involved, and it wouldn't help, anyway." I scowl fiercely. "Some people already tried that, and all it did was make Mr. Masen really mad."

"I won't call," he says, meeting me square in the eyes. "But I do want to help, if I can…if they'll let me. I can't explain why I feel this way, but I promise I don't have a hidden agenda. Even if it doesn't work out, I just…I have to _try_."

He looks sincere, and his voice even gets a little gravelly at the end. Either he's the world's best actor, or he really does care. I decide to trust him, desperate for my best friend to have a better life.

"I'll be fourteen in September and starting high school," I say slowly. "You'll have to get Edward or his mom to tell you about themselves, though—that's not my place. But if you want to try catching them when Mr. Masen's not around, I'll tell you the best times…"

I give Carlisle the information I know about the family schedule as we head back to my house. He listens carefully and then tells me he'll stop by their house tomorrow when his crew comes to put in the trees.

His car is parked on the curb in front of my house. I stop there to say goodbye to him. He surprises me one more time when he holds out his hand for me to shake. I try to think of a time I shook hands with someone before and come up blank. It feels like such a grownup thing to do, and I like that Carlisle is treating me like one.

I watch him drive off in his beat-up gray truck and wonder if maybe things aren't hopeless for Edward, after all. I let myself be crazy for a minute and imagine a happy future where Edward, Mary Alice, and their mom are living in a happy little house far away from Mr. Masen. Esme is healthy, Edward smiles all the time, and Mary Alice runs around the backyard singing at the top of her lungs. Maybe I'm there, too, sitting beside Edward and holding his hand.

With a dreamy smile on my face, I unlock the front door with my key and practically float inside the house.

But reality is quick to bring me back down to earth. The distinct odor hits me in the face as I take a step into the living room. It's one that hasn't been around for months—not since Greg left. The skin over my nose crinkles up at the burning plastic smell, and I make the useless gesture of covering it with the collar of my shirt.

A sarcastic laugh comes from the direction of the couch. Mama is there, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling with her head resting on a man's lap.

Greg's lap.

His shoulders are hunched over as he flicks a lighter at the end of his crack-stuffed glass pipe. Red-rimmed eyes flick up at me, and his mouth breaks open in a yellow-toothed grin.

"Hey there, honey. Did you miss me?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

 _Between eighth and ninth grade_

"He came over again today?"

"Yeah...and stayed for, like, fifteen minutes."

"That's the third time, right? What the heck do they talk about?"

"The same kind of stuff…it's weird. He knocks on the door saying he wants to make sure she's feeling okay, and then she asks how the tree planting job is going. But he finished with it yesterday, so I dunno what they're gonna talk about next."

"You think he'll keep coming back? It sorta seems like, um...well, do you think he might… _like_ her or something?"

"He better not."

Edward sounds mad about that, and I'll bet he's scowling over there on his side of the fence. We're both sitting on the ground with our backs against the wood. In one spot, a few of the slats have rotted, so they're thinner. It's almost like we're touching, especially when he moves and I can feel the vibrations through the boards.

"He seemed pretty nice to me…not that it means anything, though." I add the second part quickly when he makes an irritated noise.

"I don't know what's going on, but if my dad starts getting even a little idea that he's coming over, well…it'll be ugly, and not just for her. Sure, I haven't seen her smile like this in a long time, but it's not worth making him mad. She should know better."

"But what if Carlisle can help—get all of you away from your dad and stuff? Isn't that what you want?"

"First off, I don't trust the guy…not that it matters, because there's no way he can help us. Mom's too afraid of Dad to leave. And, he's got her so mixed up in the head that she doesn't think he's doing anything wrong. She thinks it's his job as the head of the house—that he's just trying to make sure we stay on the right path to Heaven. He punishes us so we learn from our mistakes."

"That's crazy!" I exclaim. "What sort of terrible mistakes do you make that you've always got bruises and cuts? And why does Esme look so sick—like she's not eating or sleeping enough? Don't tell me it was just the fall down the stairs, because it's more than that."

He doesn't answer me, and I sigh in frustration. I don't get why he doesn't seem to want help. If someone offered to take _me_ away from life with Mama, I'd be gone in a heartbeat.

"Okay, well, what if Carlisle can change her mind? You said she's smiling, right? Maybe—"

"It's not gonna work!" The force of his yell rattles the fence. He lowers his voice right away, but it's still just as intense. "I might not go to school and get out into the world like _you_ do, but that doesn't mean I'm completely stupid! I know what'll happen. This isn't the first time someone's tried to 'help,' and it always ends up bad for us.

"A couple years ago, a person at church said something about how tired Mom looked. For some reason, Dad was sure she'd been complaining to others, so he told her she needed to 'bear her burden in silence." He taped her mouth shut and said if she was so tired, she should rest. Then he threw her in a closet and locked the door. He didn't open it again until three days later."

"Oh no." My words come out in a whisper.

"Oh yeah." Edward lets out a bitter laugh. "Of course, that's nothing compared to what happened when he thought one of us called CPS. Let's just say I'll never look at camping the same way again."

"But you told me you were praying and reading the Bible out there!"

"We were—well, Mom and me did. Dad was, um…he had to make sure we were doing it _right_."

I don't know exactly what Edward means by that, and it would probably be better if I didn't. I already get sick over the things I _do_ know about.

"How'd he even find out about CPS?"

"Mom told him. She won't hide anything because she sees it as lying, which is a sin."

I can hear the annoyance in his voice, but I have to ask him one last question.

"You say your mama won't leave, but…what about you and Mary Alice? What if Carlisle could find a place where the two of you would stay together? What if he—"

"Would you shut up about it?" Edward spits out, causing me to startle. "I told you I'm not leaving my mom behind. Maybe _yours_ is a worthless human being who hates her kid, but mine isn't. Mom might be…confused…about some things, but I know she loves us. I'm sick of you thinking you know what's best for my family when your own is so messed up. I mean, do you even know who your dad is?"

My throat tightens at his words, and I have a hard time breathing. It feels like he climbed over the fence and kicked me in the stomach. My eyes are hot with tears, but instead of letting the hurt take over, I get mad. Like, _really_ mad. I turn around onto my knees and then shove at the fence where he's sitting with all my strength.

"I'd rather have no family than a _fucked up_ one like yours!" I'm shocked at the bad word that hardly ever comes out of my mouth, but I'm too worked up to stop now. "Your dad's a psycho, your mama's brainwashed, and Merr-merr is probably messed up for good because you were too scared to get help. How sad is it that _my_ friends tried harder for her than _you_ did?"

Through the cracks and holes in the wood, I can see that he's turned around, too. We're staring at each other, both breathing hard with red faces and watery eyes. He furious, but at the same time, there's just as much hurt in his expression as I know there is in mine.

Suddenly, all my anger is gone.

"Look, Edward, I'm really—"

"—a pathetic bitch. Yeah, I know."

My mouth gapes open.

The sneer on his face is easy to see, even with the fence between us. Something inside me breaks apart, and then I'm cold all over. But just as fast as the chill comes, it leaves my body, taking all emotion with it. I'm not mad anymore, and I don't feel the need to cry. I don't feel much at all.

I'm too numb and too empty.

"Whatever," I say, my voice flat. "I'm over it. All I do with you is worry and wait and then worry some more. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you and your problems and your whole messed up situation." I climb to my feet. "You're right, I shouldn't be getting into your business. You told me that more than once, and I'm finally listening. I'm out now…okay? I'm out for good."

I stand there for several heartbeats, but Edward doesn't reply. He only stares at the spot where I was sitting, his face still twisted in anger.

Shrugging, I turn around and walk to the door of my house.

I don't look back.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

 _Ninth Grade_

The summer days come and go, all melting together like crayons on a hot plate. If I had to name colors for the waxy mess, I'd say they were all shades of the same one—maybe a washed-out blue or a faded brown.

I try to get as many babysitting hours as I can and do a few odd jobs for the neighbors. Mama got fired from the restaurant and spends most of the day high. Greg's coming around again, so I try to stay away from the house. I even start sleeping in Tanya's backyard after Greg squeezes my butt one day. The weather's nice, so it's not a problem, but I'm not sure what I'll do when the nights get colder.

I've actually considered calling CPS about my own situation. It'd be easy to prove Mama does drugs; she's either hopped up or strung out on something almost all the time now. But I worry that I might end up the same or worse off in foster care. At least with Mama, I know what to expect, and things really aren't so bad when Greg's not in the picture.

Every so often, I step outside myself and think that life is pretty screwed up. I imagine what it would be like to live with a nice family in a nice home—or heck, just have a cool relative I could hang out with every so often. But for the most part, I'm so deep _in_ the crap that I can't see a way out of it.

And since the fight with Edward, I don't even try. I just work to stay afloat.

Sometimes, through the spaces in the fence, I can make out the shape of him or Esme letting Mary Alice play in their backyard. I'll wonder how they're doing—if Carlisle is still coming over to see Esme or if Edward's got any new injuries—but my head shuts the door on those thoughts pretty quickly. I can't let myself focus on my former best friend, or I'll start to feel too much.

I'll miss him too much.

Even when I didn't see him for long stretches of time, I felt like we were connected somehow, like his pain was mine. But it's different now. Something about our argument changed the way I see him, and we can never go back to our old friendship. As much as I still care about him—and probably always will—we're no longer two innocent kids with crappy lives and a fence in common.

Edward's not innocent anymore in my eyes. And I certainly don't feel like a child.

Maybe I've been acting older than my age for a while, but I'd seen myself as a little kid until I woke up the morning before school started and realized my clothes didn't fit right. Almost overnight, it seemed, my once-flat body grew boobs and a butt. The nearby thrift store was closed on Sundays, so I went to my first day of high school wearing a form-fitting shirt and tight jeans.

Guys my age and older who'd gone to school with—and ignored—me since kindergarten were suddenly checking me out and starting conversations. A few of the popular girls even said hi. I didn't get it; it wasn't like anything had changed other than the shape of my body.

It's been going on for over a week now, and I'm still trying to get used to being considered a "hot freshman" by some of the older kids. Tanya thinks it's hilarious, but Heidi's been acting weird. She seems surprised every time I sit down at our regular lunch table—like she can't believe I would still hang with them. I can't believe she thinks I wouldn't.

I'd never ditch real friends for people who suddenly like me because of looks or something stupid like that. I don't care about being popular or getting attention. In fact, I wouldn't mind having a little less of it, especially from Greg.

I scowl when the bus stops in front of my house after school. The shades are pulled down, which means the creeper is doing drugs in there. I decide to hang out at the park and do my homework instead of dealing with him. It'll take about twenty minutes to walk there, but I don't mind. That means more time away from home…away from _him_.

I don't make it very far, though. Just as I pass by the gate to Edward's backyard, it opens up far enough for a head to fit through. It's Esme, and she glances down the street before staring at me like she's trying to send me a message through ESP or something. I have no idea what it is, so I walk toward her.

"Bella," she says when I get close enough to hear her hesitant voice. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Now I'm the one looking down the street as if I expect to see Mr. Masen's car pulling up behind me. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, I don't want to get you in trouble…"

"Can you go to your backyard—to the place at the fence where you and Edward talk?"

It only takes me a second to decide and start making my way there. As much as I don't want Greg to know I'm home, there's no way I could blow off Esme when she looks so darned upset.

"Bew-wa!" Mary Alice smooshes her face against the slats of the fence. She pats on the boards as I approach. "Hi Bewwa!"

"Hey, little Merr-merr," I say, breaking into a smile despite the bad feeling growing in my stomach. "How's my girl?"

She giggles and plops down on the grass, abruptly absorbed with examining the hem of her dress.

"Thank you for talking to me," Esme says quietly, directing my attention to her. "And thank you for helping Edward the day I fell. That was really…wonderful of you."

"Uh, you're welcome," I reply. I'm a little uncomfortable hearing her grateful words. She makes it sound like I did something amazing when, really, I'd just been watching and worrying.

"I hate to bother you with this, but I just…I don't know what to do." She lets out a long, quivering sigh. "It's Edward. For the past month or so, he's been acting different, and it's getting worse."

She's wringing her hands, looking at the ground now instead of through the fence at me.

"Different?"

"He so withdrawn and quiet, except for the times he's deliberately doing something to set off his father. I'm concerned that he's going to cross the line and really be…disciplined."

I fight to hold back my opinions of Mr. Masen's "discipline."

"You think he's trying to get in trouble on purpose?"

"There's no other explanation for the way he's acting. I wish I knew why, and more importantly, how to convince him to stop."

I feel a pang of guilt and try to push it away. Even if the argument between me and Edward something to do with his situation, I won't let myself get involved. Not anymore.

"Sorry, but I don't know what's going on." Feeling the sudden need to put distance between me and Esme, I take several steps back. "I have to go, but I, uh, hope everything works out."

"Wait!"

She presses a hand against the fence and leans close to a larger gap between the boards. I can see almost all of her face. It's amazing how much she and her son look alike.

"Could you talk to him?" she asks, now sounding desperate. "Maybe ask him to stop making his father so upset?"

Once again, I struggle with the pain that tries to settle in my chest. I can't afford to get wrapped up in his life—not when I'm barely handling the problems in my own. I can't go to battle for Edward when he won't do it himself.

"I'm sorry," I repeat, shaking my head and sliding back another step. "We're not friends—"

"Please!" she cries out. "I don't know what to do. I think something's wrong with both of them. Edward's so lifeless, and his father…he walks around the house for hours, muttering to himself and looking for reasons to…to p-punish us." Her chin drops and her hand slides down the fence as though she doesn't have enough strength to hold them up anymore. "I know a wife supposed to obey and support her husband, but I'm starting to think that maybe…"

She's talking so softly now that I have to move closer to hear.

"What?" I ask, my own voice low. "What are you thinking?"

If Esme is questioning Mr. Masen's abuse, maybe I can convince her to get help. It's the first spark of hope I've felt in a long time.

"I'm not sure he's acting in the name of God," she murmurs. "It's hard for me to believe he is carrying out the Lord's will...not when he—"

I never find out what she's going to say. Her words are drowned out by the loud slamming of a door and Mary Alice's startled cry. I catch a glimpse of Esme's terrified face as she turns toward the sound.

Through the fence, I can see the enraged form of Mr. Masen on the steps to the patio. His shoulders are heaving, and his hands are clenched into fists. Mary Alice begins wailing in earnest, but no one pays attention to her. Esme is frozen in place, Mr. Masen's livid glare is focused on his wife, and Edward…

Edward stands behind his dad, his face blank and his eyes staring off into the distance.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

* * *

"What's going on here?"

Mr. Masen's words are soft and calm, but they're bubbling with dangerous undertones. I shrink back at the undisguised fury in his expression. Mary Alice crawls toward her mama, but Esme quickly hands her some sort of biscuit from her pocket and moves away.

"Answer me, Rebecca. Why are you talking to a child of the devil?" He begins taking slow steps in her direction.

I can only stare, horrified, as he gets closer. We don't have a phone line, so the only way to call the cops is to run across the street and hope a neighbor is home. But I'm too scared to move. I'm afraid that if I leave, it'll be the last time I see one of them.

Mr. Masen comes to a halt in from of Esme's hunched-over form. I muffle my scream with my hands as his foot swings forward to kick her in the stomach.

"Repent your sins."

Esme tumbles to the ground, her arms protecting her head. Immediately, she begins to chant something in a low, gasping murmur. I can only hear some of the words.

"…Matthew 7:6…do not give dogs what is holy…pearls before pigs…turn to attack you…"

His foot thuds into her again, this time against her ribs. I haven't seen Edward glance toward his mama even once.

"Why do you disobey me, Rebecca? Why do you forsake His teachings?"

She curls into a tighter ball, still reciting her phrases. Bible verses?

"…wives, submit to your own husbands…she who brings shame…like rottenness in his bones…"

Holding her now-grubby biscuit in one hand, Mary Alice stands up on her thin legs and toddles over to Esme. She looks up at Mr. Masen and then back at her mama.

"Bad!" The little girl flings her biscuit at Esme's head and tries to kick out with her foot. "Bad Mommy!"

"Oh no, Merr-merr," I gasp in disbelief. My eyes fill with tears at her attempt to copy her dad's actions.

I'm surprised that Mr. Masen doesn't look happy about it, either. In fact, his face turns a dark shade of red as he glowers at his daughter.

"Matthew 15:4," he says in a ringing voice. "'For God commanded, saying, Honor thy father and mother: and, He that curseth father or mother, let him die the death.'"

It feels like my heart stops as I take in his words.

"No!" I scream out. "Don't you dare touch her!"

When I see him reaching for Mary Alice, I sprint out of my backyard and head toward theirs. I don't know what he's going to do—if he plans to take the verse literally—but there's no way I can stand by and watch. I have to try stopping him.

"Someone help!" I yell at the top of my lungs as I yank open their fence gate. "Call 9-1-1!"

I nearly trip and fall when I take in the scene at the Masens'. Esme has pulled Mary Alice underneath her and is shielding her from the heavy foot of Mr. Masen. Edward finally looks at the rest of his family, but his face is still expressionless.

I don't have time to be disgusted over his lack of action. With all the angry terror in my body, I run as hard as I can toward the side of Mr. Masen's body and hurl myself at his legs.

The impact rattles every part of me. While I doubt I've done any real injury to the tall man, at least I'm able to knock him off his feet.

Esme takes advantage of the distraction to gather up Mary Alice and start toward the gate. But Mr. Masen recovers quickly and closes a hand around her ankle before she can get away. Esme falls to her knees, crying out as she drops Mary Alice. Mr. Masen yanks violently on his wife's leg to bring her closer.

I can't let him get to her again. Still lying dazed on the ground, I move my head toward the nearest part of him and clamp down hard with my teeth. It turns out to be his calf that I'm biting. I have a hard time getting a good grip with the material of his pants in the way.

Still, he lets out a yell and shakes his leg, trying to free himself. I manage to hold on for a few seconds until he grabs a handful of my hair. The pain is intense, and I have to let go.

Before I can make sense of what's happening, fingers dig into my side, and then I'm being thrown at the fence. My head smacks against the boards first, quickly followed by the rest of me.

"'The soul who sins shall die.'"

Groaning, I lift my head up from the heap I landed in. I can see the fuzzy shape of Mr. Masen towering above me.

"'The Lord preserves all who love him, but all the wicked he will destroy.'" I can hear the sneer in his voice. "You're the crafty serpent, deceiving my family and leading them into sin, aren't you? How long have you been tempting them?"

My blurred vision slowly clears, and behind Mr. Masen, I see Esme struggling to stand. Mary Alice is oddly quiet as she watches her mama hobble toward her on what appears to be a tender ankle. I hope Mr. Masen will be distracted long enough for them to get away. I just wish it wasn't me who was providing the distraction.

If I was smarter, or maybe more brave, I'd come up with some way to keep him talking and draw things out like they do in the movies. But I'm nothing more than a scared girl who doesn't turn fourteen until next week. When it occurs to me that I might not be around for it, I start to freak out.

My mouth begins moving, spitting out a slew of jumbled apologies and pleas for him not to hurt me. I pull myself into the tightest ball possible, covering my face just like Esme had done. The good thing about the position is that my head has the most protection I can give it. The bad part is that I don't see the hit coming.

I've never been kicked in the side before and am surprised to feel pain all over my body, even in my legs. The air is knocked out of my lungs, so my anguished cry sounds more like the croak of a frog. Mr. Masen continues to speak, and I struggle to make out his words through the fog in my brain.

"'By His breath the heavens are cleared; His hand has pierced the fleeing serpent.' I will pray for you, young lady, even as I condemn you to Hell."

I uncover my face just in time to see a glint of light reflect off a thin metallic object in Mr. Masen's hand. A knife. It's odd that the main thing occupying my thoughts is wondering why he has one on him. My eyes close reflexively, and I hold my breath.

I wait for more pain.

I wait for pain that doesn't come.

Instead, there's a hysterical yell and the dull of thud of an object striking a body. Something heavy falls on top of me.

"Get away from her!"

The weight is gone just as suddenly as it came. I look up to see Mr. Masen lunging at a weapon-brandishing Edward.

"I won't let you hurt anyone else!" Edward cries, swinging a metal rod at his father. It looks like a fireplace poker.

Mr. Masen tries to duck out of the way, but the rod manages to catch him on the arm. Edward doesn't waste any time and launches another attack.

"You want us to quote scripture when we've sinned…maybe you should do the same!" he says through gritted teeth, dodging his father's attempt to lunge again. "Here's one for you: 'Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them'!"

He swings the poker low, hitting Mr. Masen on the side of his knee. The man gasps in pain and bends over to clutch his wounded leg. It's a perfect opportunity for Edward.

"'Husbands should love their wives as their own bodies…for no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes it and cherishes it…'"

The rod swings up, smashing against Mr. Masen's lowered head. I let out a shriek as the man topples over and falls to the ground. Blood flows from his nose and mouth, and he seems unconscious.

But Edward isn't finished.

"Does _this_ feel like nourishing and cherishing?" he rages. "Does it feel like love? Or am I being _harsh_? I think it's time you get as much 'love' as you've given us all these years."

Over and over again, the iron poker rains down blows on the motionless body. It strikes the legs, the ribs, the feet, the chest, the head… If he doesn't stop, Edward's going to kill his father.

Unless he's already dead.

"That's enough!" I cry out, ignoring my aching side as I scramble to my feet. "We're safe, Edward."

My words don't have an effect. Edward takes another swing. And another.

"You've got to stop…now!" Despite the danger to myself, I grab his upper arm and try to pull him away.

"Don't touch me!" Edward screams. He spins around and shoves me, hard.

I stumble backward, tripping over my own feet and falling to the ground again. My already-sore head bounces off something solid, and dark clouds spin in the sky above. Blackness creeps in on the edges of my vision, and I have a difficult time holding onto reality.

Is it just a hallucination, or is Edward really stepping closer, his eyes crazed and the fireplace poker held high as if he's going to use it on me?

Is my former best friend so far gone that he'd do such a thing? To me?

I'm thankful that my conscious mind slips away before I find out.

* * *

 **As always, thanks SO much for reading! Extra hugs for the wonderful feedback I get. :^)**

 **Also, I do have the plot worked out to the end, so PM me if you need to know where this going...**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

The smells are the first things that make sense to me. My mind tries to sort out what the different ones could be: faint cigarette smoke, stale air from an old A/C unit, bleached linen, something sort of rotten...or maybe…sewage?

Then I become aware of sounds. Strange ones. So weird, in fact, that I can't tell if what I'm hearing is real or in my head. I'm not used to heavy traffic outside my window or unfamiliar voices getting louder and softer as if they're passing by. There also seems to be repetitive murmuring near my head, but that's completely crazy because the jumble of words is being spoken in Edward's voice. I'm pretty sure it can't be him: I've never heard such a sweet, yet sorrowful tone come out of his mouth before.

I try to figure out what the imaginary voice is saying, but my brain is suddenly overloaded with the feeling of pain. My whole body aches, though it's my head and left side that hurt the most. There's also pressure around one of my hands, like it's being squeezed or squashed.

Someone or something makes a low, rasping sound. I think it might be me because now my throat feels scratchy.

The murmuring cuts off abruptly, but the squeezing gets worse.

"Ow. Ow."

That's definitely me.

The pressure on my hand disappears, and I'm grateful for that, but then I feel it around the top of my arms and chest. It's a good thing nothing's touching me lower down on my side where I hurt. Otherwise, I'd be crying instead of croaking.

"…sorry, Bella. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry you got hurt, and I'm sorry I didn't get to him sooner, and I'm sorry I was so crazy—today and all the days before. If you're okay, I swear I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Just _please_ be okay. I'm so sorry…"

The voice sure sounds like his. But I don't know what he's talking about, except…

An image flashes through my mind's eye—a memory of a broken and bloodied body, wild green eyes, a weapon raised over me…

I gasp.

"Edward—?"

I wasn't finished talking, but all the air gets squeezed out my lungs. My arm is being pressed right into the bruised spot on my side, and it's agony.

"Ow...stop!"

"Oh no—Bella…sorry, I'm sorry!"

I can breathe normally again. That's always good.

Forcing my gritty eyes open, I blink in the low light of a small space. It looks a motel room—a sketchy one, at that. The curtains are drawn, but the window frequently brightens from car headlights.

I'm lying on the lumpy mattress of a twin bed, and Edward sits beside me. His face is…distraught.

"What's going on? Where are we?" Another question floats into my foggy head. "Your mom and Merr-merr! Are they—?"

I sit up quickly to look around, which turns out to be a mistake. The room sways from side to side, and I feel like throwing up. I lie back down on the bed and curl into a ball. Edward reaches out as though he's going to touch my leg, then yanks his hand back with a terrified expression.

"What's wrong? What can I do? Please, Bella, tell me…"

"Hold on a sec," I grunt, clutching my stomach.

After a minute, I feel a little better. Taking a deep, yet careful breath, I slowly push myself into a sitting position again. Edward watches me intently as I move and twist, finding out exactly where and how bad I'm hurt. Finally, my eyes meet his. It's time to get some answers.

"Okay, how about you tell me what the heck's going on?" I say. "Start at the beginning. I remember most of it, up to the part where you pushed me away and it looked like you were going to…you know…beat the crap out of me."

I shouldn't have said that because Edward goes off on another round of frantic apologies. While he's doing his thing, I notice Esme lying asleep on a tattered couch across the room. She holds Mary Alice snugly in her arms. I wonder if I looked as peaceful when I was passed out as Esme does now. She's got to be hurting a lot more with all the kicks she got.

The thought of Mr. Masen's abuse makes me furious. I grab Edward's wrist to shut him up.

"I know. You're sorry. But how did we get here? Is your mama okay? What about Merr-merr?"

His face turns red, and for a second, I wonder if he's going to go nuts again. But he manages to get himself together enough to tell me that Esme's about the same she always is—bruised and battered—and Mary Alice seems fine.

"We had to leave," Edward says, his voice strained. "I carried you away from the house, and Mom was so out of it that she followed along with Merr."

"You _carried_ me?" I study his figure. True, he's a lot taller than me, but his body's sort of scrawny. I can't picture him being strong enough to pick me up and keep me up.

"I only made it out of the neighborhood," he admits, looking embarrassed. "Then we had to catch a cab."

"Where'd you get the money? And didn't the driver think it was weird that I was sorta...out of it?"

"He never said anything, so I'm not sure. As for the money, well…remember before Merr was born, I told you I was going to run away? I'd been, uh, taking a little bit from my dad whenever I could and saved it up. Even after I decided to stay, I kept doing it." His gaze drops to the beige bedspread. "I know it's wrong to steal, but I wanted to get away and—"

"I don't blame you at all," I interrupt. When I see I'm still latched onto Edward's wrist, I loosen my fingers and slide them down to hold his hand. "Is that how you got a motel room?"

He grimaces. "Yeah. I told the cab driver to take us to the cheapest place he knew, and this is where we ended up. Sorry. I have enough for another night or two, but after that, I don't know what we're going to do."

As my head continues to clear, I realize that we haven't talked about a very big, very serious problem. It's weird that my heart starts to beat really fast inside me, but I feel like I'm frozen with fear on the outside.

"Um, your dad…is he—?"

"I dunno," he says quietly, with a mixed-up expression on his face. It's like he's not sure whether to laugh or cry or scream. "I don't care, either."

"Yeah, but what are you going to do?" My voice takes on a hysterical edge. "Someone's going to notice he's missing and find him, if they haven't already. They'll call the cops, and the cops will look for you. Edward, you could go to jail! What are we going to do?"

I really hate crying, but it seems like I'm always in tears when it comes to Edward and his family. I try to keep my sobs quiet so I don't wake up Esme and Mary Alice. Thankfully, they seem to be really out of it.

I feel even more like a wuss when Edward scoots across the bed to sit beside me and puts a gentle arm around my shoulders. He's the one who's in trouble, and here he is trying to make _me_ feel better.

"I don't know, except…" He lets out a defeated sigh and leans his head against mine. "Maybe it's time to call that Carlisle guy."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

They're some of the best minutes of my life, and I hate that they have to end.

The scene isn't perfect by a long shot. The rotten smell, the shabby furniture, the constant flashing of light from outside—I never picture any of these things when I think about being happy. In my many fantasies, I don't feel throbbing pain all over, and I'm not scared about an uncertain future. There's only one thing the same in every dream.

Edward.

We're lying on the bed together, facing the ceiling, my head on his outstretched arm. Our sides are pressed together so that we fit on twin-sized mattress, and my foot is crossed over his.

I focus only on the sensation of his chest expanding against me as he breathes and the soft tickle of his khaki pants against my bare skin. The rest of the world with its problems, especially Edward's situation, are pushed out of my mind.

Six or seven weeks have passed since our fight, but it feels longer—so much has changed since then. With all the craziness around us, I need to take this little chunk of time to appreciate being with him again. I have no idea what we mean to each other or even if we're friends again, but it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters except the sense of peace, the contentment in every part of me, that I feel right now.

But my small bubble can't last forever. Real life announces its return with a soft knock on the door.

I don't miss the tiny squeeze of Edward's arm around my shoulders just before I carefully roll off the side of the mattress. It could be a hug for good luck or reluctance to let me go—whatever it is, I'm glad for the spark of courage it gives.

Edward reaches the door first, looks out the peephole, and sighs. After glancing at his mama and Mary Alice, still asleep on the couch, he takes my hand to lead me outside.

Carlisle Cullen looks like he jumped out of bed, threw on whatever clothes he could find, and raced over here—which he probably did. I don't know exactly what time in the middle of the night it is, but he had obviously been asleep when I called. It was a surprise to find that the room phone not only worked, but that we could also make free local calls. I've never been so thankful for one of those special phone numbers that stick in your head. If his business cell number hadn't been 555-TREE, I would've had to wait until morning to take a bus home and dig out his card.

From the little I'd seen of him, I thought Carlisle was a mostly laid-back guy. I thought he'd listen to what happened and come up with some sort of sensible plan. And to be honest, though I didn't admit this to Edward, I figured that the plan would involve police and lawyers and an explanation about self-defense.

I only get a little bit of that right.

I end up being the one to tell the story. Edward still doesn't trust the guy, and he doesn't remember everything that happened, anyway. We haven't talked about his weird trance-like behavior, but my guess is that he shut down to keep from going nuts.

When I start off by describing how Mr. Masen kicked Esme after catching her talking to me, I wonder if Carlisle's the one who's going to go nuts. His face turns white, then sort of blue, and finally red. He looks like he's about to run straight through Edward, who's standing in front of the motel room door, to make sure she's alright. I hurry up and explain that she's okay for now and is asleep with Mary Alice.

"Religious beliefs or not, they both need to go to the hospital!" He practically snarls the words at us. "You too, son."

I turn my head toward Edward, who looks more uncertain than I've ever seen him. "I don't know if she'll agree, but I…I'll talk to her in the morning." He frowns. "I'm pretty sure we don't have insurance, though. The church gives out forms so we don't have to pay a fine from the government."

Carlisle waves his hand in the air. "Don't worry about any of that. We'll work it out after your family gets taken care of. This state has a lot of health care programs, and if you don't qualify for some reason, I'll handle it."

"What about Bella? She got hurt, too."

"What?" Carlisle looks even more shocked now. "How did that happen?"

I feel sort of embarrassed as I explain how Mr. Masen went for Mary Alice. I find it a lot harder to tell my part in the story. I leave out as many details as possible, saying only that I knocked him over and then he threw me into the fence.

My voice cracks when I mention the knife. My hands start to shake, too. Edward, who's been watching me carefully, glares at Carlisle as though it's his fault I'm getting upset.

But Carlisle looks mad, too. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw moves like he's clenching it over and over. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone.

"Sorry, Edward, but I'm calling the police. If I'd done it a long time ago when I should have, this might not have happened. I'm not making that mistake again. A man like him needs to be—"

Carlisle stops and tilts his head, a puzzled look on his face.

"Wait. You told me he had a knife, right? How did you get away?"

Edward and I exchange a worried glance. It's one thing to say we're going to trust another person with such a dangerous secret, another to actually put ourselves on the line. I should do something before Edward changes his mind.

But then I'm in the backyard again, hearing the dull thuds of a metal rod sinking into thinly-clothed flesh. I remember the fury in Edward's eyes—such a contrast to the emptiness that had been there just a few minutes before.

I'm scared, and for a moment, it's not just about what could happen to Edward. I'm scared _of_ Edward—of the person he was when attacking his father.

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I'm not able to tell Carlisle what happened. I just can't. Not without showing my fear.

There's a heavy silence as Carlisle looks between the two of us. I gape helplessly at Edward, who is staring at cars passing by. Finally, the older man blows through his lips, squeezes his eyes shut, and raises both hands to tug on the hair at the back of his neck.

"Listen, the longer I wait to call the police, the more time he has to come up with a story or even take off running. He needs to be arrested, and—"

"He's dead."

Carlisle freezes in place, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"I beat him to death with a fireplace iron. I killed him."

There's not an ounce of feeling in Edward's voice, and it gives me chills. He's still staring out into the street. But when I take a nervous step backward, he looks at me.

"Bella, I…"

Our gazes lock, and that's when I know. He's been fighting so hard for so long to keep everything inside—his fear, his anger, his guilt. If any one emotion gets though his defensive wall, he won't be able to stop the others.

But maybe that's not a bad thing.

My own fear melts away when I see how close he is to falling apart. With slow steps, I close the small distance between us. My hands push their way under his arms and around his chest. At first, he doesn't respond to my touch, but as I continue to hug him tightly, I feel his shoulders start to tremble. The shuddering gets stronger until he's sucking in big gulps of air.

"What did I do?" he whispers. "How could I have…have…? Oh my God. I h-hit him…I k- _killed_ him. My dad. What am I going to do?"

His whole body is shaking, including his legs. I help him sit down against the motel's outer wall so he doesn't fall over. He's full-on sobbing now, and it breaks my already battered heart. My tears mix with his as I climb into his lap and cling onto him with my whole body.

I hardly notice it when Carlisle runs to his car, starts the engine, and speeds away.

* * *

 **Thanks to Powered by 23 Kicks, twilly, and GeekChic12 for their input, support, and all-around awesomeness!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

At first, I think he's joking.

"What about a Big Mac or...McNuggets? Not even a single French fry?"

"Nowp," Edward mumbles, his mouth full of Sausage Biscuit with Egg. He washes it down with a long slurp of orange juice. "We've never eaten out before. Too expensive."

I know that a bowl of cereal doesn't cost as much as even the cheapest fast food, but it's hard for me to imagine a person getting to 14 without ever tasting McDonald's. The way he's shoveling food in his mouth makes me think he's trying to make up for it, though.

Mary Alice looks just as happy eating her Hot Cakes drenched in syrup. Even Esme seems to be enjoying the Egg McMuffin I bought. I used a chunk out of yesterday's much-needed babysitting money to get us breakfast, but Edward is obviously worse off than I am.

I also wanted to take his mind off Carlisle's disappearance a few hours ago. When we realized the guy was gone, Edward freaked out all over again. He's been eyeing the door every few seconds as if he expects the police to bust it down. Honestly, I'm a little worried about that, too.

We agreed not to tell Esme about our call to Carlisle. There's not much to say about it, and there's no reason to stress her out when we don't know what's going on.

The knock on the door comes just as I'm cleaning up the breakfast trash.

Immediately, my heart begins to pound. Edward jumps up from the couch and looks at his mama and sister like he wants to hide them somewhere. Esme, who had gasped in surprise at the sound, pulls Mary Alice onto her lap and hugs her tightly.

Praying that it's just Carlisle, I force myself to walk to the door. Edward, however, darts in front of me and gets there first. I don't know if he's just anxious or is trying to act manly by protecting me; either way, I have no problem with him taking charge. He lets out a relieved sigh after looking through the peep hole, and I finally allow myself to breathe again.

Edward has barely cracked open the door when Carlisle rushes in and scans the room. The moment he sees Esme, his eyes light up, and I swear that little hearts come out of them. Esme, after getting over her initial shock and confusion, looks exactly the same way. The only thing missing in this cheesy scene is classical music by that Tchai-guy.

It's all kinds of adorable.

Edward obviously doesn't feel the same way. He slams the door and lets out a huff. Carlisle and Esme are too busy making googly-faces to notice. Their spell is broken only when Mary Alice starts squirming for her mama to let her down.

"Hi, Lie-yul!" she calls out, waving her skinny arm in the air. She points to the empty McDonald's bag. "Pancakes!"

Carlisle squats down in front of Mary Alice, who is now standing unsteadily on the floor. "Hello, Miss Mary Alice. Did you have a nice breakfast?"

"Pancakes!" she repeats, trying to push her still-sticky fingers in his mouth.

"That's not polite, honey," Esme says in a soft, embarrassed voice. She grabs the little girl's hands and cleans them off with a wet napkin. "Sorry about that, Mr. Cull—…um, Carlisle."

I ignore Edward's second huff and stand so that Carlisle can see me.

"You left us," I say, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. "What was that all about?"

He straightens up quickly, his expression now serious. I take an automatic step closer to Edward, dreading the news.

"I went to your house to check things out…" He glances at Esme and then at her son. "No one was there."

Edward looks confused, but I'm just relieved.

"That's good, right? The cops haven't found out yet. What do you think we should do now?"

"No, I mean… _no one_ was there, not even Mr. Masen." Carlisle scrubs a hand across his face before continuing. "I saw the, um, red stains in the grass, which I assumed were his, but there was no, uh, body or anything. The back door to the house was hanging open, so we went inside and searched all the rooms. Nothing seemed strange or out of place to me."

I grab Edward's hand and lead him to the couch when he starts to look unsteady on his legs. Esme doesn't appear to be doing much better, but at least she's already sitting down. She stares at Carlisle in dazed bewilderment. I think she's beginning to wonder why he's involved in the situation at all.

"Was there a car in the driveway?" Edward asks abruptly, his voice barely audible. His eyes are unfocused as if he's seeing something other than what's in front of him.

"No, I don't think… _oh_. I see." Carlisle's brow wrinkles. "That would make sense. But then, if he was hurt as badly as you say, how could he have been in any condition to drive?"

It's a good question, but something else is bugging me.

"Hold on a sec…why did you say ' _we_ ' searched the house?"

The landscaper grimaces as if he hadn't meant to let that detail slip out. "I didn't plan on telling you quite like this, but, um…a few other people know what happened."

"What? Like who? The cops?" My voice is much too loud for the tiny room.

"Bella, first of all, please try to stay calm."

I hadn't even realized I'd crossed the room and was trying to get in Carlisle's face as much as my shorter height would allow. I back up and force my rear down on the arm of the couch.

"My brother and sister-in-law are my landscaping partners, and we're very close. They already knew a little bit about the ongoing, uh, _situation_ with Mr. Masen." He gives Esme an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I was worried about you…about you all. Still, I shouldn't have talked to anyone else about things that aren't my business."

"No, it's okay," Esme replies, her voice as quiet as always. "I understand."

"So did they both go with you?" I ask.

"My brother Jasper went." Carlisle seems to get even more uncomfortable. "So did my brother-in-law, Emmett."

"Even more people know?" I'm full-out shrieking now.

"I only told Emmett that I needed help with something. He has a, uh… _diverse_ …background and doesn't ask questions. I trust him with my life."

Edward's eyes still have that glazed-over look in them. I give his shoulder a shake.

"Are you okay?"

His head bobs up and down, but I'm not convinced.

"So what happens now? Is Edward still going to get in trouble?"

Carlisle sits down on the bed, his body sagging as if he's out of energy.

"Unless Mr. Masen goes to the police or his bod—…unless he turns up somewhere, there's no evidence of what happened. Emmett took care of everything at the house, including the fireplace iron. He knows what he's doing, so you shouldn't worry about that."

The blond-haired man looks at the couch where Mary Alice is playing with the extra breakfast condiments. He rubs his forehead and sighs.

"You know you can't go back, right? Not with _him_ out there. It's too dangerous. And this motel…" He glances around the room. "This isn't the place for any of you, especially Mary Alice. Listen, I've got two extra bedrooms at my house. You're welcome to them for as long as you want. But if you don't like that idea, at least let me get you to a nice hotel until we can find something more long-term."

Edward's head snaps up, and he glares at Carlisle. "We are _not_ staying at your house. I'd rather live on the street than go with you. No one will to control _us_ again."

"What are you talking about?" I protest. "Carlisle's not trying to control you. He just wants to help."

"No, he just wants Mom! I see the way he looks at her with…with… _lustful_ _intent_. Living with a man who's not her husband? He'll deceive her into committing adultery. I'm not gonna let that happen."

Esme puts a hand on her son's arm. "Edward, that's not what—"

"Be quiet!" he snarls, jerking away from her. "First Timothy 2:12. 'But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence'!"

Esme shrinks back immediately, her eyes downcast and her hands shaking.

I start to shake, too, but for a different reason. Edward sounded so much like his dad that, while part of me is scared, I mostly just get really _really_ mad. I jump off the arm of the couch, grab Edward's hand, and yank him to his feet.

"Excuse us a minute," I mutter as I march toward the door, dragging a surprised teenaged boy behind me. "We need to have a little talk outside."

* * *

 **Bella's referring to the Romeo and Juliet Overture by Tchaikovsky. She learned about it in Music class. :^)**

 **Thanks again to Powered by 23 Kicks, Twilly, and GeekChíc12. (Ahem, Geeky, note the accented i. lol)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

Edward had been a first-class, Grade A jerk.

He's already realized that he screwed up big-time, and it's obvious by his horrified expression how much he regrets it. I don't even have to yell at him. But I do point out that he's going to end up turning into his dad if he doesn't watch himself. I also tear apart his stupid comments about living on the street and Carlisle wanting to control the family. Edward doesn't say anything; he just stares at the cracked concrete and nods.

When he's looking so sad and apologetic, it's not hard to change his mind and make him agree to stay with Carlisle for at least a few days. Edward doesn't have a clue what it takes to live in the "real world," and his family needs all the help they could get.

I had a good feeling he'd give in on the living arrangement issue since they didn't have many other options, but I'm surprised when he also agrees to talk to the cops. It turns out Carlisle can be pretty darned convincing, too.

"Until we know for sure what happened to your dad, none of you will be safe," he says to Edward when we return from outside. "If the police learn what he's done, they can look out for him. It'll be that much easier to keep him locked up if they have the full story. Well…most of the story. I'd stick to the truth as much as you can but don't go into details about how you defended Bella. You can say that you knocked him out when he tried to stab her, and then everyone ran. End of story. You're the victims in this—you'll be fine."

"Can you promise that?" Edward asks. It's not the snarky voice he usually uses with Carlisle. Instead, it's resigned, defeated.

Carlisle sighs. "No, I can't promise anything. But I think it's the best thing to do for everyone's safety. Especially Bella's."

"Bella? What about her?"

"Well, if your dad comes looking, I doubt he'll be able to find you at my house. But he does know where Bella lives. If the police get your report, they'll probably include her place in their daily rounds or maybe swing by a few times to check on them."

Edward's eyes widen. "She can't go back home. No way. Carlisle, you have to let her stay with us!" He turns to face the man with a desperate expression on his face. "Please?"

"I don't mind, but...Bella, what about your mom?" he asks me with a frown. "She's going to press charges, right? I'm surprised she hasn't already filed a report."

Tilting his head to the side, Edward scrunches up his face in confused disbelief—as if he'd forgotten I even had a family or that someone else was responsible for me.

"My mama?" I say slowly, buying myself time to work out an answer. "I haven't had a chance to talk to her yet. Lately, she's been really, uh…busy."

It's true. Those drugs aren't going to snort themselves.

"Too busy to deal with an assault on her daughter? Impossible." He pulls a cell phone from his back pocket. "Why don't you have her meet us at the station? Or do you want me to explain things to her?"

If I tell him we don't have a phone, he'll probably want to go the house and talk to her in person. I can't imagine that going well. Taking his cell, I turn around and dial the only number I know: Carlisle's. It rings a few times and then prompts for a password to his message inbox.

"It went to voice mail," I say truthfully, shutting off the screen and handing the phone back. "She's probably out for the day."

Yeah, she's out, alright.

"Did you try her cell?" Carlisle asks.

"She doesn't have one."

He opens his mouth, stares hard at me for a few seconds, then presses his lips together. When he blows out a sigh, I know he's going to let it go. For the moment.

"Let's see what the police think about the safety risks of you being at home," he says. "I don't think parental consent is required to take a minor's statement, but I'll call my sister on the way to the station. She's a defense attorney. Actually, if she has the time, I'd love for her to come with us. Do any of you mind that?"

Edward and I exchange nervous glances. Every time another person finds out about our secret, it feels like the situation gets more out of control.

Though I doubt we ever had any to begin with.

I end up shrugging because it's not really up to me. My only worry is someone finding out about Mama's habit, and I don't think a defense lawyer is going to make that an issue.

Edward again surprises me by offering up a reluctant nod to Carlisle. I'm not sure why he's being so… _reasonable_ all of the sudden, but I'm more than happy to go with it.

"Esme?"

She looks up from playing with Mary Alice, shocked to be included in the conversation. I'd bet good money that Mr. Masen never asked for her opinion. I wonder if he let her talk at all.

Carlisle gives her a tender smile. "I think my sister could help you, but only if you're comfortable with the idea. We should be fine, regardless."

"Okay," she says shyly. "Whatever you think is best."

His expression falls ever so slightly. He's probably assuming the same thing I did—that no one in the family was allowed to have a voice except for Mr. Masen.

With the pressing decisions made, we check out of the motel room, which Carlisle insists on paying for. When we pile into the landscaper's truck, Edward hops into the front seat right away. I get the feeling he only sits there because he doesn't like the idea of either me or his mama alone beside Carlisle. I understand having trust issues, but I think he's taking things too far yet again.

The day is long and stressful, mostly because we spend so much time sitting around. After Carlisle helps us fill out the complaint against Mr. Masen, we wait almost two hours for a detective to interview us. Carlisle isn't able to get in touch with his sister, so he spends the time researching things on his phone. Esme keeps busy trying to entertain Mary Alice, who gets crankier as the minutes creep by. The station is crowded and busy. Edward's eyes dart nervously around the room as he takes in the hectic scene. I think he's overwhelmed by all the commotion.

At one point, an argument breaks out between a man and a woman who are sitting a few rows in front of us. The man waves his arms in the air as his voice gets louder. One of them hits the woman in the face—I'm not sure if it's an accident or not—and she starts screaming. They're separated quickly by the staff, but the incident seems to really affect Edward.

We're sitting beside each other in the hard metal chairs of the waiting room, and the anxious bouncing of his leg is shaking his whole body. His knuckles are white from the strain in his clenched fists.

Though we've been through so much together in the past day, it still takes me a few minutes to work up my courage. I wipe the sweat off my clammy palm and put my hand over his. The bouncing of his leg stops right away. I'm not looking directly at him—I'm not that brave—but I can tell he's staring at our hands lying on top of his thigh.

Slowly, his fingers uncurl and twist around mine.

My heart pounds as our hands clasp together—a deliberate and meaningful action. This isn't a new gesture for us, but it's become so much more now. We're not just reacting to heartbreak by clinging to one another. And we're not being swept downstream in the same current, feeling numb from shock. I'm not trying to stay in a little bubble of blind happiness, ignoring the river of crap around us.

This is me, accepting the situation and offering what comfort I can. And it's him, willingly taking it.

He lets out a long, heavy sigh and tugs on my hand so that I'll scoot my chair over as close as it will go. Eventually, I lean my head against his shoulder and just...breathe.

It's a start—the fragile roots of a renewed connection.

I only hope that tragedy doesn't strike again before our friendship has a chance to grow.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

 _Ninth Grade_

Hoisting my backpack farther up my shoulder, I swipe my bus card and then settle into the first open window seat I find. The glass is dirty and scratched, but it doesn't matter. I'm not paying attention to the passing sights; there are other things on my mind.

Like how to pay the water bill.

We're already a month behind. I don't know how long it takes for them to shut us off, but I really don't want to wake up one morning and not be able to flush the toilet. I've got $23 in my wallet, and I need that for food.

The bus fare for today's trip isn't in the budget, but I haven't seen Edward all week—not since Carlisle dropped me off at home after we finished at the police station. The landscaper's house is across town from me, and the bus ride is almost 45 minutes long. As much as I wanted to come during the week, it would've been hard to do with my school's late afternoon dismissal. And of course, there's that whole money shortage problem.

I really should've tried to get a babysitting job for tonight—it would've been easy with this being a Friday—but I can't stand the thought of waiting any longer. I have no idea what's going on with Edward and his family, and it's been stressing me out all week.

I pull the folded piece of paper from my pocket and stare at the address. It's already been memorized, but seeing Carlisle's writing with his "Come over any time" message makes me feel a little better. It's nice to feel welcome somewhere.

My thoughts wander back the water bill, and I make a mental list of upperclassmen who might be interested in paying for me to do their homework. Now that we're past the first weeks of school, teachers are assigning more work, including projects and papers. As long as I'm careful about who I deal with, I should be able to pull in almost as much money as I did by babysitting during the summer.

A wave of despair hits me when I think about the things I'm doing to get by and what's going to happen when it's not enough. As much as I hate Greg coming over, he always has cash on him. Sometimes he'll send me out for food when he's too messed up to get it himself. If he lets me get money out of his wallet, I take extra. Either he doesn't realize or doesn't care because he's never said anything.

I still don't like to do it, though. No matter how much of a creep he is, I know I shouldn't be stealing from him.

After almost an hour, I hear the announcement for my stop. When I get off the bus and check out the surroundings, I see that I'm in a quiet part of town where the houses look kind of old but well-kept. It's nicer than my neighborhood. Of course, that's not saying much.

Carlisle's street is nearby, but according the map search I did on a school computer, his house is set back a good distance from the main road. I'm glad the weather's nice for my long hike. The pretty red and orange leaves of fall cover the lawns, and the houses get farther apart as I go along. More and more trees appear on the properties, and by the time I reach the right address, I don't feel like I'm in the same town anymore.

Standing in front of a distressed wood door, I take a few moments to catch my breath and calm the nervousness that's been building all week. It will be strange to see Edward outside his usual environment, and I wonder how such a different setting will affect our already confusing relationship.

Finally, I gather my courage and push the doorbell. The two-toned chime rings out, and immediately after the sound, I hear the clink of silverware being dropped onto plates and the scuffing vibration of chair legs moving across a floor. There are hurried footsteps, the dull thud of a door closing, and then prolonged silence.

I take a step back from the door and anxiously wring my hands together. As the long seconds pass, my heartbeat picks up a frantic speed. I'm seriously considering turning and running when my eye catches the slow movement of a curtain in the nearby window.

"It's okay; it's just Bella."

Carlisle's muffled announcement brings relief. A chain is unhooked, a deadbolt slides back, a door creaks open. My eyes immediately go to the shotgun resting at the man's side.

"Well, this is a nice surprise," he says with a smile. "Come on in."

The moment I step inside, my nose picks up the delicious smells of hot food. I swallow and ignore the rumbling in my stomach as I look toward a door to my left. Edward's head of messy bronze pokes through the opening.

"Bella?"

"Hey," I mumble, my eyes dropping to the top step of the basement stairs where his feet are. For some reason, I suddenly feel shy.

"Bewwa, Bewwa! Japper pool, Bewwa!"

Mary Alice and the top half of Esme appear as they climb the stairs. The toddler is grinning broadly. The area around her mouth smeared with something green.

Carlisle chuckles at the little girl's outburst. "You really enjoyed swimming in Jasper's pool today, didn't you, Mary Alice?"

"Sim, sim!" she agrees enthusiastically.

I notice that Edward is wearing a pained grimace, and Esme's eyes are red-rimmed. Before I have a chance to ask what's going on, Carlisle gestures to the dining room.

"Have you had dinner yet, Bella? We just sat down. You're more than welcome to join us."

I nod my head in eagerness. Whatever it is I'm smelling has to be better than the package of peanut butter crackers in my backpack.

It's a simple meal of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas, but I swear I've never tasted anything so good. The rest of the world is all but forgotten as I devour the delicious food. Compared to what I usually have for dinner, it's a feast. I don't know much about cooking, so most of what I eat comes out of a box.

When I've cleaned my plate, I glance up to see Carlisle giving me an odd look. Everyone else is still in the middle of their meal, and I realize I must have put on a pretty unappealing show. My face gets hot.

"Uh, that was really good. Really good…food. I guess I was kinda, um, hungry."

"It _is_ good, isn't it?" He beams at Esme. "I haven't eaten so well in a long time."

Her cheeks turn as pink as mine must be. "My pleasure," she murmurs, then turns her attention to Mary Alice, who is shoving a handful of mashed potatoes in the general vicinity of her mouth.

Edward doesn't seem to be paying attention. He stares absently at his plate as he mixes around his mostly untouched food. Carlisle notices his distraction, too.

"If you're finished, Edward, why don't you show Bella around? I'll take care of your plate."

He looks up and blinks at me a few times. "Uh, yeah, sure. Good idea."

There's not really much to see. The three-bedroom house has just the basics. It's nice enough, but nothing fancy. Edward leads me to Carlisle's room, a sort of messy office, and a bedroom with a double bed and one of those baby playpen sleeping things.

"So where do you stay?" I ask, confused.

"Oh, er, Carlisle was going to move his office downstairs and turn it into a bedroom for me, but I said I'd take the basement, instead. It's kinda nice, like having my own place or something."

We pass by the kitchen on the way to the stairs. Carlisle and Esme are working as a team to clear the table and take care of the dishes. Mary Alice is busy pushing toys from her high chair tray onto the floor. For just a second, I imagine that the scene is "real"—that this is the only life Edward's ever known and that his crazy dad isn't possibly out there somewhere, looking for them.

If only.

The room Edward sleeps in is about the same size as the master bedroom. It looks like it had been used as a rec room before. There's a couch—which Edward tells me pulls out into a bed—a few chairs, a huge TV on the wall, a counter that I think is supposed to be a bar, and a pool table that's been pushed to the side to give him more room.

"Wow, this is awesome," I say. "You got the best room in the house."

"It's alright," he replies with a shrug, letting his body flop onto the couch. His arm comes up to lie across his face.

He isn't completely horizontal on the couch, so after a small hesitation, I take a seat at the opposite end. Edward's eyes are covered, and his mouth is still formed into a frown.

"So, uh, how was your week? Besides the room, are you getting settled in okay? What about your mama and Merr?"

He takes his time in answering. "Yeah…I guess we're getting used to the place. We've been kinda busy—going back to the police station, meeting Carlisle's family, and…seeing doctors." His voice cracks on the last word.

I'd be happy that they finally went to a hospital if not for the fear that sweeps through my body. "Is everything okay?"

"Well, it turns out that in my mom's life, she's had a broken foot, a broken arm, four cracked ribs, a fractured cheekbone, and a cracked skull. Her arm never healed right, and one of the doctors wants to do some sort of thing where he has to re-break it." Edward squeezes the hand by his ear into a tight fist. "But other than being covered in bruises, she's okay right now."

I shake my head sadly. That's not "okay" in my book.

"What about you?"

"About the same, though I guess most of my breaks were more like cracks that healed good enough. They don't need to do anything extra to me."

I reach a tentative hand out to his knee. "That's good news, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

We're both quiet for a minute until I speak again.

"How was Merr-Merr? Didn't you tell me once that your dad treated her okay?"

"He pretty much ignored her or got mad at Mom, instead, if she cried too much. She didn't have any broken bones or anything like that, but…but…"

Another wave of dread crashes over me when his voice trails off in a broken sob. I don't even realize that my fingers are digging into his leg.

"What is it? What's going on with Merr?"

Edward has to take a bunch of deep breaths before he can continue. "They think she's got something wrong with her brain…something that made her take a long time to walk and move right and everything. They called it, um…cere—…ceber pally? No, maybe…cereb—"

"Cerebral palsy," I finish for him in a whisper.

"Yeah. That." His other arm comes up to cross the one over his eyes. "But they said it wasn't so bad—like maybe if she started doing a lot of exercises and stuff, she could move better. That's, um…that's why we to Jasper's pool today. For her."

"Oh. Well, huh. That's good, right?" I'm still trying to process everything he just said. "Who's Jasper again?"

"Carlisle's brother. He's married to some lady named Cynthia. They're…okay. Nice, I guess."

"Oh." I can't seem to get my thoughts together. "Okay."

"Yeah," Edward sighs, obviously understanding how shocking this news is. "Merr's got a problem with hearing, too. The doctor thinks that's why she's not talking like she should. He says if they put tubes in her ears, it will help a lot." He pauses and clears his throat. "Um, Bella, do you think you could, ya know…my leg?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, sorry." I'd completely forgotten about the tight hold I had on him. I snatch my hand away and feel terrible about the indentations left in his pants...probably his skin, too. "So, is she going to get the tubes? And what about your mama and her arm?"

Another sigh. "Everything's crazy right now. There are some programs that will help pay, but the social worker that talked to us says it will take time to do the paperwork and get approved. Since we don't have health insurance, it's going to be harder to get Merr all the therapy they want her to have. My mom's arm can wait, and the bruises will heal on their…oh!"

Edward sits up suddenly, his eyes wide with concern.

"What about you? Did your mom take you to the doctor to get checked out? Is everything okay?"

My hand automatically goes to my side, where there's a very colorful bruise under my shirt. "I'm sore, but that's all. It's fine."

At least, I'm pretty sure it's fine. I was stiff and achy for most of the week, but I figured that was to be expected after being kicked in the side and thrown against a fence.

"What did your mom say about what happened? Did the police come by like they promised?"

I squirm a little and look away from his eyes. I have no problem lying when needed but can't quite bring myself to do it in front of Edward. I settle for a highly edited version of the truth.

"She was surprised when I told her." _And pissed that I got involved._ "The police stopped at my house on Monday." _Those fifteen minutes were the longest of my life. I was worried she wouldn't be able to keep it together and then get busted._ "They're gonna increase patrols in the area for a while. They said they'd come by to check on us again soon since we don't have a phone." _Mama freaked out after they left. She's never been so mad at me. Even when she was on a bad trip, she never tried to throw things before. Guess it's good she's too weak to actually hurt me._

"I'm glad they'll be looking out for you," Edward replies, scooting a little closer. His eyes dart to my face then down to the small gap on the couch between his leg and mine. "I, uh…I'm not sure I ever said sorry for what happened a while ago—you know, when I yelled at you and all. Everything's been so messed up…and I was so out of it… It's not like I'm trying to give you excuses or anything, but I just…well, I…"

He's really struggling—grabbing the material of his pants in his fists and pulling over and over. It's uncomfortable to watch. I lay my hand on the couch cushion, palm up in invitation.

"I get it," I say, trying not to let my voice hitch when he slowly places his hand over mine. "You were in a crappy situation for so long. I think anyone would've gone a little nuts. Don't get me wrong: I was mad and hurt and everything, but I do get that you might not've meant everything you said."

"I didn't mean _any_ of it! And I definitely didn't think you were a pathetic, uh…you know..."

"A pathetic bitch?" I say with a smile.

Edward winces. "Um, yeah. That."

"Where'd you hear a shady word like that, anyway? I thought your dad only let you listen to church radio programs and choir music and stuff." I give his hand a playful squeeze to show him I'm just teasing.

"Well, I used to have this neighbor who was a bad influence on me. She'd let me borrow her books, and some of them had _evil_ in them."

When he peeks up at me from under his lashes, I feel an excited fluttering in my stomach. I've never flirted with anyone before, but that doesn't stop me from trying.

"A bad influence, huh? You poor thing. What sort of evil was she having you read?"

Even though it's plenty cool in the basement, both of our palms are warm. Edward eyes are shifting all over the place—to me, the floor, the couch, back to me again, then to our clammy joined hands.

"It was terrible stuff. Wizards, mockingbirds, brave new worlds…um, scarlet letters…" The tips of his ears turn pink.

I try to be cool and laugh off the thrill that runs through me. "Yeah, that Hester Prynne. Crazy girl, falling for a minister when she knew better."

"Well, Reverend Dimmesdale knew better, too. He was such a disappointment," Edward says with sudden feeling. "Watching while Hester went through so much on her own, then making things worse by letting guilt eat him up. She was so loyal and strong…and deserved more than being stuck loving that broken coward until he finally died from shame."

Edward's not looking at me now, and his hand has become limp in mine. Even though he's not moving, I can practically feel him pulling away from me.

I turn to face him and grab his other hand. "Hester was a coward, too. Maybe she acted tough and proud, but she never stood up for herself or really faced the situation. She kept quiet and survived for so long, but that made things worse, too. By the time she tried to follow her heart, it was too late."

His eyes finally hold mine, and we stare at each other for a long moment. My head feels weird, like there are a lot of thoughts buzzing around inside and I can't catch a single one. All I know is that my heart is getting a serious workout with all the racing it's been doing today.

I'm not sure if he leans forward first or if I do. Maybe we move at the same time. The important thing is that we meet in the middle, nervous and uncertain. I've thought plenty about kissing Edward before, but in my mind, the scene was lot more dramatic (there may have been frenzied pawing involved)…and I had a lot more game.

Our noses brush as we instinctively tilt our heads to fit together, and then his lips touch mine. It's a nice feeling, probably even amazing, but my stomach is doing so many flip-flops that I can't concentrate on anything except trying not to embarrass myself. His mouth moves a little, and I follow his lead.

I think our first kiss is good one, though it ends way too soon, in my opinion. It's Edward who pulls back, and for a terrible instant, I'm afraid the weird look on his face means he's about to freak out. But then he gives me a shy smile and tugs on my hands, which he's still holding. We shuffle around so that he's leaning back into a corner end of the couch and my head is resting on his chest.

Pressed up beside him, I feel lighter than I have all week—the most at peace since the last time we were together. His news about Mary Alice was horrible, but I feel hopeful that she'll finally get the help she needs. As tragic as Mr. Masen's attack was, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

Other than the occasional thump of footsteps above us, it's very quiet in the basement as we embrace the simple joy of each other's company. Every so often, I let out a lazy giggle when Edward's stomach makes a particularly impressive gurgling noise. He squeezes his arm around me when it happens, and I sigh with happiness.

I'm not sure how long we sit there or what time it is, and there's a good chance I'm going to miss the last bus back to my neighborhood. But I don't care. There's no place I'd rather be than beside the boy I've loved almost all my life.

* * *

 **A longer chapter than usual this time, but I didn't want to split it up. Hope that's okay, lol.**

 **Huge thanks to Sunflower Fran and Powered by 23 Kicks for helping me make up my mind about changing a key element of the plot. I won't say what it is yet, but trust me, you'll want to thank them, too. :^)**

 **Speaking of Powered by 23 Kicks, I'm reading this amazing WIP of hers, Down to Earth. How can you resist Edward as a super sexy Greek God? I highly suggest you check it out! xxoo**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

 ****Trigger warning - In order to keep from spoiling the chapter, I'm listing potential triggers at the end and providing a chapter summary for those who want to skip over this one. If you think the warning may apply to you, please scroll to the end or send me a PM for more info.****

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The picture-perfect morning scene isn't easy to leave.

Though I do wake on the couch alone—Edward moved to the floor sometime during the night—I love that he's the one of first things I see when my eyes open. His hair is sticking out from his head in every direction, and I can't help but reach down and try to comb it flat with my fingers. The stubborn locks refuse to cooperate and pop right back out. It's so adorable.

The first thing I _smell_ is the mouth-watering scent of bacon. I take a deep whiff and then sigh longingly. Edward laughs when I vault over him to find the source. I'm not very hungry after the large dinner I had the evening before. Still, I can't help but make the most of the delicious spread Esme prepared. Heaps of pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit—I feel like I'm a queen dining on a some kind of royal feast.

When it's time to go, Edward and I exchange a shy goodbye in front of everyone before I climb into Carlisle's truck. Although she never complains, Esme is obviously still recovering from Mr. Masen's attack; her movements are slow, stiff, and painful to watch. Edward remains behind to clean up after breakfast and take care of Mary Alice.

I want to stay longer to help and just hang out in general but have an eight-hour babysitting job starting at noon. With $80 on the line, I can't afford to not go, even though it feels like an eternity stretches between now and next Friday when I can visit again. After sleeping so soundly in the safety of Edward's arms, I'm finding it hard to go back to my house where I'm constantly worried about Greg.

Walking into a messy house reeking of smoke, garbage, and body odor is a jolting reminder of my reality. Greg's car isn't in the driveway, but Mama's bad mood nearly makes up for that stroke of luck. I think she's crashing from a recent high: she's dirty, hungry, and looking for a fight. After making her some oatmeal, I try to stay out of sight while getting ready for my job. She yells at me about everything and anything as I dash out the door, but at least she doesn't throw stuff today.

School, homework (mine and other students'), housework, and thoughts of Edward keep me busy through the week. Our kiss and the time spent cuddling on the couch replay on a continuous loop in my head. More than once, I get distracted and catch myself staring off into the distance with a stupid smile on my face.

I'm so out of it that when Friday finally does come, I forget to bring my bus pass with me in the morning. It's annoying that I'm going to have to ride the school bus home to grab the card and then take two separate public buses to Carlisle's. The extra traveling will mean I'll have at least an hour and a half less to spend playing with Mary Alice or doing things with Edward. And I'm seriously hoping some of those things include more kissing and touching.

When the school bus stops at my house after school, I'm in the middle of wondering whether it would be best to ask Carlisle's permission to spend the night or just happen to fall asleep again. If we pulled out the couch bed, would Edward stay beside me all night with the extra room between us? The thought brings those flutters to my stomach again.

I'm in such an excited rush that the sight of Greg's car doesn't register until it's too late. I burst through the front door wearing a happy expression that falls off the moment I realize what's going on less than a dozen feet from me.

Mama's lying on the couch, her jeans hanging off one ankle and her shirt bunched up around her neck. I can tell she's cracked out by the way she's muttering and flinging her arms all over the place.

Greg is on the couch, too. Completely naked, he's on his knees and is holding Mama onto him with his hands on her hips.

It's not the first time I've accidentally seen them having sex, but I've never been so close or caught so off guard. Usually, I ignore them, and they ignore me. But this time, in the midst of my surprise, I make the worst mistake possible. I freeze.

Mama looks like she's in a world of her own, but not Greg. He turns to leer at me, curls his lips into a creepy smile, and starts going at it harder with Mama.

"Hey, honey, you like watchin' me fuck your mom?" he says in between grunts and gasps of air, his locked on mine. "Bet you want a turn, huh? You'd be a lot tighter than this old, loose slut."

He thrusts into Mama so hard that her head thuds into the arm of the couch. She cries out, and that breaks my trance. For a second, I think about turning around and leaving without the pass, but it's a special student card that gives me fifty percent off the normal fare. I can't waste the extra money on a trip I already shouldn't be taking—one costing money that's needed for more important things.

Greg's cackling, perverted taunts follow me into my room as I grab the pass from underneath my mattress where I keep it. It takes less than a minute for me to leave the living room and come back, but that turns out to be enough time for Greg to get up and block my path out of the hallway. I gasp when I see him and take a step back. My heel bumps into a wall.

"Where you goin' in such a hurry, pretty thing?"

He's stroking himself in an uneven motion as he stares at me with an unsteady gaze. I can see the huge, dilated pupils of his bloodshot eyes and realize that he's high on something, too. That makes my situation so much more dangerous. There's no telling what he might do.

"My f-friend's waiting for me outside," I lie, my voice thin and shaky. "If I don't get out there now, she's gonna wonder where I am."

"Don't worry, honey. Your mom got me all warmed up for you. I bet you'll feel so good it'll only take a minute. You can get right back to having fun with your little friend. Or, fuck, you can invite her in. I'll do you both. _Fuck_." He groans and strokes a little faster.

I try to figure out a way out of this, but my terror makes it hard to think straight. His large body fills the end of the hallway. There's no way I'd be able to run by or knock him down. And I'd never be able to get a bedroom window open in time if he chases after me. So I just stand there, not moving a muscle, as he stares and pumps and grunts.

The fleeting hope enters my mind that he might finish himself off and forget about the whole thing. He usually falls asleep after being with Mama, so maybe he'll just want to go to bed. I wonder how close he is to being done.

Watching is the last thing I want to do, but there's no way I'm going to take my eyes off him for a second—not when he can almost reach out and grab me. I remember the steak knife under my pillow. If he starts to comes after me, that's what I'm going to go for. It's pretty much the best chance I have at fighting back.

Greg's mouth falls open, and he lets out a low moan. "Fuck, honey, this feels so good. Get over here and feel this. I want you to feel it when I come."

Is this it? Is he almost done? Maybe I'll have time to make it out a window if I run the moment he comes. From what I've heard through the walls, it can take him several seconds to finish all the way.

I inch closer to the door of my room and get ready.

It's a bad move. His gaze becomes startlingly sharp when he notices my change of position.

"I told you to get the fuck over here and feel me, bitch!" he spits out. "Don't you dare try to get away from me!"

He lurches forward with his arms outstretched. I scream and spin around to go for the knife, but his fingers manage to grab a handful of my shirt.

"C'mere, bitch! Feel it, feel it!" he rants, yanking me up against him.

I keep screaming at the top of my lungs as I twist wildly in an effort to get free. But he's so much bigger and has a tight grip on me.

"Hold still, dammit! Hold still so I can—"

His words are drowned out by a shrill female voice.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Mama.

"Your bitch daughter thinks she's too good for my dick," Greg snarls, dropping to his knees and forcing me down onto my stomach. "I'm not takin' that shit from her."

"Get the fuck off her right now, or I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Mama screams. "I told you to stay away from her!"

He's bending my arms behind my back so I can't flip over. I writhe and struggle to get loose, but my attempts are next to useless against his strength. He's straddling me, one leg on each side of my hips. I choke back a sob and go limp beneath him. There's nothing I can do except try to survive it. Fighting will only make things worse.

But just as his hand reaches under me for the front of my jeans, Mama lets out a scream that sounds like a wild animal. With my cheek against the floor, I can't see anything, but I hear her running footsteps and feel the impact as she jumps on top of Greg.

"What the hell, bitch? You tryin' to make me beat your— _fuck!_ Holy _fuck!_ You just _bit_ my motherfucking neck!"

He lets go of my arms, and I scramble to my knees just in time to see him backhand Mama across the face. She stumbles to the side from the force of his blow, but although blood begins pouring from her nose, she doesn't seem fazed at all.

"Get out my house, you disgusting piece of shit," she screams. "Get out right now, or I'm gonna tear the rest of your ugly-ass head off!"

He takes away the hand that had been clutching the side of his neck and sees that it's covered in blood. This makes him madder than ever.

"Look what the fuck you did!" he hollers, holding his red hand out. His face contorts in fury. "I'm gonna beat your ass, and then I'm gonna fuck you _and_ your brat so hard you won't be able to walk for days."

Mama screams again as she rushes at him, her fingers curved like talons and reaching for his face. Greg barely has time to raise his hands to shield himself from her attack, but he quickly gets the upper hand and starts swinging his fists at her head. I shriek when several blows find their target.

"Mama!" I yell, blindly rushing forward and pounding my own balled-up hands into his side. But my weak hits don't make a difference. Desperate now, I hook my arms over the elbow of his right arm and try to stop him from using that fist on her.

Despite my best efforts, Greg manages to land another hard punch. This one drops Mama to her knees. Still screaming at the top of my lungs, I grab a fistful of his hair in each hand and yank down, practically hanging all my weight off the long strands. He loses his balance and begins to tip backward, toward me. On top of me. With at least a hundred pound difference between the two of us, I know I should get out of the way, but I have to make sure he goes down. It's probably the best chance I'm going to get to injure him.

I roll into a ball as his heavy, naked body crashes onto me, knocking all the air out of my lungs. Other than that, however, I don't think I'm hurt by the impact. Unfortunately, Greg seems to be fine, too. He rolls over onto his knees and pulls me up by the front of my shirt.

"You're gonna get it now, bitch," he shouts, his face only inches from mine, spit flying from his mouth. "I'm gonna break every fucking bone in your body, and while you lay there fucking bleeding and dying, you can watch while do the same thing to your cunt-whore mom. And I won't even be done. After that, I'm gonna take—"

Greg's words are cut off by a blue blur that slams into his side and knocks him down onto the floor. With the hold on my shirt gone, I crumple into a heap as well.

"Get out here!" a man yells as he wrestles to pin Greg on his stomach. "Go outside; backup is on their way."

Not that I need any encouragement to do as he says, but seeing the flash of a police badge on his chest makes me feel better about trusting his word. As fast as possible, I crawl over to Mama, who's on all fours and staring dazedly at the puddle of blood created by the flow from her nose. She's also muttering something under her breath. I can make out a few words and phrases as I pull her up and out of the room behind me.

"…fucking rocks and dust…my fucking fault...that sick motherfucker…my baby girl...goddamn powder…get help…"

We stumble outside into the light of late afternoon. A police car is parked in front of the house, and another one squeals to a stop behind it. At the corner of out street, an ambulance speeds into view. Two cops run by us into the house, yelling for the first cop as they go. I barely register their presence: they're of no more interest to me than the mailbox across the street. It's all part of the blurred scenery that my mind just isn't able to process.

I make it as far the porch steps before my legs refuse to hold me up anymore. Mama and I sink down together on the steps. When the ambulance reaches the house, a door opens, and paramedics jump out.

"Mama," I whimper, feeling scared and completely overwhelmed. My body starts to shake. My teeth chatter together. I can't seem to stop it.

I feel like I'm about to lose my head and fall apart, just go crazy and scream at the top of my lungs. But then Mama does something I don't know if she's ever done before.

She puts her arms around my shoulders and pulls me close.

"It's gonna be okay, baby," she whispers in a hoarse voice, slowly rocking us back and forth as the paramedics rush over. "We're gonna figure this shit out, and it's gonna be okay."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

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 ****Trigger Warning - This chapter contains indecent exposure and lewd acts in front of a minor and verbal threats of rape directed at both a minor and an adult. There is an attempt made, but it is thwarted before anything happens. I consider the chapter to be mildly graphic.****

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 **Chapter Summary:**

Bella wakes up Saturday morning after falling asleep on the couch with Edward. (He moved to the floor in the middle of the night.) Carlisle drives Bella home in time for her weekend babysitting jobs.

She plans to visit again the following Friday. Forgetting her student bus pass at home, she stops there after school to retrieve it and walks in on Greg and her mom having sex. Both are high on crack. Greg corners Bella and makes sexually suggestive remarks. She runs, but Greg catches her. Renee attempts to intercede, and he hits her repeatedly. Bella is ineffective when she tries to stop the assault. Greg turns on her, but before he can do anything, a law enforcement officer enters the scene and tackles Greg.

Bella and Renee escape outside, where more emergency personnel are gathering. Bella breaks down into tears, and Renee hugs and comforts her for the first time in Bella's memory.


	23. Chapter 23

**A huge Thank You goes out again to Powered by 23 Kicks for her support, writing savvy, and all-around awesomeness.**

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 **Chapter 23**

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"So what you're saying is that…if I want to know how much something costs when it's twenty percent off…I figure out what eighty percent of the price is…which means multiply by…0.8?...and that's…how much it costs…?"

"Exactly!"

"Okay, I think I got it. Lemme try the rest of these."

Edward buries his head in his notebook, and I turn back to my Algebra homework. While I'm not great at math, Edward is about two years behind me in that subject, so I can help when he gets stuck. Carlisle enrolled him in an online homeschool program where he takes virtual classes with other kids across the state. He logs onto the computer about the same time my own school day starts.

Esme had tried her best to educate him on her own, but she didn't have the experience or access to resources. On top of that, she was often too tired, weak, and broken to handle such a responsibility. Though he's my age, Edward is doing mostly seventh and eighth grade work. He doesn't like to show how it frustrates him to be so far behind, but I've gotten better at reading his moods over the last three weeks.

Since Greg's attack on me, I've been staying with Carlisle. Mama checked into a state rehab program for detox, and thankfully, Carlisle stepped up so I didn't have to go to a foster home. Mama's back at our house now but has to show DHS that she can stay clean, hold down a job, and take care of me before I'm allowed to live with her again.

I've only seen her a few times since coming to Carlisle's, mostly on weekends, but it's obvious she's trying to be a better parent. She asks me about school and how the Masens are doing, and I hear about the life improvement classes she's taking. Our conversations can be weird and uncomfortable, but I think that's because we have so little practice actually talking to each other.

I can tell that she wants me to come home soon as possible, and it's hard to admit to myself that I'd rather stay with Carlisle. For so long, I hoped she'd show some interest in me, and now that she does, I spend a lot of our supervised time together wishing it was over.

Some of that—okay, probably most of that—has to do with Edward. Even though we're living under the same roof now, it feels like we hardly have time together. I've got school, and the long ride across town, either in Carlisle's truck or by bus, really cuts into my day. Homework and dinner take up a good part of the evening, and then it's off to bed. Carlisle's not strict about much, but he believes that people, especially those in school, should get a full night's rest.

I've taken over the pull-out couch in the basement. Edward moved into the room that used to be Carlisle's office. Space is pretty tight with the five of us, but I like living in a busy house. The coziness somehow makes me feel fuller on the inside—warmer, too.

And Edward…he does a lot to fill me with emotion. Every day I come back from school, he's there at the living room window, watching, waiting for me to get to the door. He's supposed to stay inside as much as possible, but sometimes he comes out to greet me, anyway.

I shouldn't smile and laugh when he does it. I want him to be safe more than anything else. But it makes me feel so good when he runs up, pulls me into his arms, and gives me an enthusiastic kiss as if it just wasn't possible for him to wait a second longer.

The kisses are innocent—we haven't done anything more yet—but I get flushed from my head to my toes. Some of the warmth comes from the excitement of his touch; I can't deny that. Most of what I feel, however, is happiness and love. It's like I want to keep him close to me and never let go.

"Hey, you done yet?"

Edward's elbow nudges me ribs, making me squeak and jerk to the side.

"Quit it!" I say with a laugh. "You know how ticklish I am."

"Oops. Sorry."

I scoff. I don't believe him for a second.

"Yeah, I'll bet you're sorry," I say, rolling my eyes. "And no, I'm not done. Two more problems."

"Well, I'm going to the backyard. Come out when you finish, 'kay?"

He isn't gone a minute before I realize our situation. Carlisle and Esme took Mary Alice to a physical therapy appointment, and they won't be back for at least an hour, maybe more. Besides the two algebra problems, I have an English response paper to write—but it isn't mine. I could get up early in the morning and jot down something passable for the captain of the basketball team…

I slam my textbook shut and hurry out back.

The huge expanse of carefully maintained lawn is enclosed by a tall privacy fence. Carlisle put it up soon after the Masens came to live with him. He wanted to make sure they could spend some time outside without being seen.

At first, he wouldn't let anyone be in the yard without him—and his shotgun. But it's been a month since Mr. Masen disappeared, and the police haven't had any leads. Though Carlisle is still careful, he's relaxing more as the days go by. He let me and Edward stay home this evening without an adult for the first time.

I can't believe I didn't take advantage of this opportunity sooner.

Edward is messing around with a soccer ball—dribbling, shooting, and bouncing it off various parts of his legs. I've been watching him do it for years, and over that time, he's gotten pretty good.

I plop down in a chair to enjoy the view, and he doesn't disappoint. Although just as lanky as ever, he seems different somehow—more confident, more mature. Maybe it's the changes that come after defending your family and a friend from a dangerously crazy person. Or maybe it's because he's free from the terrible abuse he suffered for so long.

Whatever it is, he wears it well.

Given our involved history, I'm pretty sure I'd feel the same about him no matter what he looked like. Still, I'm not at all complaining about the fact that Edward Masen is a genuine hottie. Each of his parts is great on its own—mouth, eyes, lips, hair, body—but when they're all put together… _sigh_. I was never one of those girls who drooled over celebrities or had crushes on the cute boys at school, but I find myself going starry-eyed over Edward every so often.

Like now, for instance.

He's got the most adorable expression of concentration on his face as he flips the soccer ball into the air with his foot and then bounces it off his knees. The October air is chilly, and his cheeks are pink from exertion. I love how his messy hair flops over his forehead. I want to push it away from his face with my fingers.

Edward lobs the ball in my direction with an easy flick of his ankle. It moves in a high, rainbow-shaped arc, so I have plenty of time to set my arms and catch it.

"Wanna play keep-away?" he asks with a grin. "I'll steal it from you, and you can try to get it back."

"We both know that's never gonna happen," I say, hoping he doesn't notice that my voice is a little more breathy than usual. "I might have to cheat."

"Sure, if you think that'll help."

The smirk he gives me is so heart-stopping that I think he's the one not playing fair.

Our game starts off well enough. I do everything I can to keep him from getting the ball, and all of it is illegal in real soccer. I shove him back with my hands, cradle the ball in my arms, and even cover it on the ground with my entire body. Edward goes easy on me; I know he could steal the ball away without much trouble if he wanted to.

It takes him all of three seconds to get it from me when he finally decides it's his turn. A strategic tickle on my ribs causes me to twist in laughter, and then he's standing in front of me, balancing the soccer ball on the top of his shoe.

"Argh, I didn't say _you_ could cheat!" From my bent-over position in the grass, I make a dive for the ball with my arms outstretched.

He skips out of reach easily and dribbles the ball in circles around my splayed-out figure. Slightly embarrassed, I climb to my feet and brush off my clothes.

"Aren't ya gonna come get it?" he taunts, showing off some fancy footwork for my benefit.

I grit my teeth in fake anger and charge at him. He kicks the ball this way and that, always keeping it just far enough away that I can't get a foot—or hand—on it.

"I'm doing this the wrong way," I pant after several minutes of unsuccessful attacks.

"Ya think?"

Oh, to wipe that adorable smirk off his face.

"Yeah, see, I've been trying to take the ball from you this whole time, but what I should do instead is take _you_ from the _ball_!"

My hard crash into him does two things. First, it pushes him away from the soccer ball, and second, it causes our bodies to press together.

 _Close_ together.

I catch him off-guard enough that he loses his balance and falls to the ground. My momentum carries me with him, and I land happily on top.

The mood changes instantly. Edward might not know that I copied that move from sappy romantic movies, but it doesn't take long for his instincts to kick in. He sucks in a sharp breath and then goes still beneath me, staring with uncertainty in his eyes.

I want to kiss him, hard, except I'm not sure if he feels the same way. I mean, I think he _wants_ to but is probably worried whether he _should_. There's no telling what his dad taught him about girls and dating—probably, that he was supposed to stay away from both.

He's pecked me on the mouth lots of times, though, so I figure he'll be okay if I do that to him. Trying to ignore the crazy thumping of my heart, I close my eyes and slowly lower my head. Our lips touch, and I stop for a second to enjoy the warm softness.

His hands go to my waist and tighten there. When he starts to slide my body onto the grass beside him, I pull away with a quiet whimper of disappointment, certain that he's giving me the signal to stop. But his hips turn to follow mine, and then he's halfway on top of me, finding my lips again.

Looks like I'm not the only one with moves.

Little explosions of excitement start to fizz in every part of me. My skin tingles under my clothes where our bodies touch. My stomach is one huge tangle of butterflies. There's buzzing in my brain, tightness in my chest, and a desire for more. My mouth opens tentatively and then closes, testing the waters, asking him to respond.

And just as tentatively, he does.

It's a slow and nervous dance at first. Our lips stumble and bump together as we try different rhythms to find one that works for us. My arms lay limp by my side. Even if I knew what to do with them, I couldn't make it happen right now. All my awareness is wrapped up in that small area of our bodies where we move and touch and explore. It feels so good that I never want to stop.

In fact, I'm greedy for more.

When our lips part again, I tighten against him, resisting, keeping his mouth from closing. He freezes, probably confused by the change of pace, and that's when my tongue peeks out to touch his for the first time.

It's the most amazing feeling yet.

A tingling shiver runs through me—one that's hot and cold all at once. It starts where our mouths connect and travels down my spine, into my stomach and my lower abdomen and my… _there_. A soft squeak slips out of my throat as I'm flooded with aching need.

At the sound, Edward pulls back, his eyes wide, his breath coming fast. He moves so fast that it takes me a second to get used to the change in position. Now that there's a little distance between us, my world expands outward. I feel the cold ground underneath me, Edward's warm weight over my body, the softness of his shirt against the exposed skin on my wrist, the firmness of his jeans pressing into my thigh…

Not thinking, instead following some subconscious, primal directive, I shift my hips and rub up against him.

The resulting sensation is overwhelming. I gasp. Edward does, too.

Then he scrambles to his feet and turns his back to me. Walking quickly, he escapes to a far corner of the yard. I watch him leave in dazed silence.

I'm not hurt or surprised by his action. We could both use some time to calm down. I didn't mean to cross that boundary and feel terrible for making him so uncomfortable.

Well, I'm not sorry about _all_ of his discomfort.

I'm torn between getting up to apologize and staying on the ground to wallow in blissful agony. But eventually, slowly, I roll over and push up into a sitting position.

Edward is pacing along the fence, his hand tugging at his hair the same way I've seen Carlisle do. I think it's cute that he's already picking up some of the older man's habits. After a minute or two, he shuffles back to me, his eyes on the ground. I grab the soccer ball that's nearby and climb to my feet.

Edward's the first to speak. He's still looking down, embarrassment all over his features.

"Sorry," he mutters, barely audible. "I shouldn't've left like that…I mean…it was really, ya know, _great_ and all…but then you were just so…and I couldn't…and, I'm sorry…"

I wave my hands in the air to cut him off. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, and I totally get what you're saying. We kinda jumped ahead of ourselves, right? Like you said, it was really great—like the perfect kind of great—when we were just…you know…but then I did…what I did…and it was too much…and just so…so…"

I trail off, getting as flustered as Edward had been.

He finally glances up at me. We stare at each other, trying to figure out how to move past what happened. Then the dam bursts, and we both crack up, laughing and smiling like idiots.

"Ha, check it out!" I say as we're calming down. "My evil plan worked. Look who's got the ball!" I make a highly unsuccessful attempt to spin it on my finger.

Edward flips the ball into his hands with his foot before it hits the ground.

"I guess it would be _me_ who has the ball," he says, grinning at my pouting expression. "But I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. See those two trees? Bet you can't get it past me."

I groan when he tosses the ball back into my arms. I'm just as bad at shooting goals as I am at keep-away.

My first two kicks are weak attempts that roll right to him. On the third, I give myself plenty of distance, charge up to the ball, and smash it with all my strength. It soars far above Edward's head…and completely in the wrong direction.

"Aw, crap," I whine when the ball clears the fence and lands into the thick underbrush of the woods behind Carlisle's house.

"I'll get it," Edward says with a laugh. "The ball is obviously trying to get away from you and your terrible soccer skills."

I roll my eyes as he jogs to the gate and leaves the backyard. The sun is nearing the horizon, so I figure Carlisle, Esme, and Mary Alice will be back soon. After Edward gets the ball, I'm going to go inside and wash up for dinner. Carlisle's bringing Chinese, and I can't wait to devour some spring rolls.

Edward's gone longer than I expect, so I walk up to the area of the fence where the ball should be.

"Hey, did you find it?" I call out. I try to look to the other side, but the boards of the newly-built fence are fitted tightly together.

"What? Oh, uh, yeah. I got it."

The volume of his voice shows that he's not very far away—probably right next to the fence on the other side. But his tone isn't right. It sounds like he's distracted or worried, or maybe…scared?

"Are you okay? What's going on? Hang on, I'm coming around."

"Here? No, don't! It's nothing—"

But the only thing his words do is make me run instead of walk.

The gate's at the side of the house, so it takes me a minute to get out of the yard and back to where Edward is. When I turn the corner, I see him crouched on the ground, staring at the fence with a blank expression on his face. There are tall grasses, vines, and scrawny shrubs all around him, but the spot he's in seems to be cleared out.

"What is it?" I ask. "I'm starting to get a little freaked out here. What are you—?"

My voice gives out when I get closer to him. I was half-right about the brush; there's a circular area beside the fence without plants. But instead of being removed completely, they've been flattened—trampled, maybe, or squashed down by something heavy sitting on top of them.

What really makes my heart race and my skin break out in goosebumps is the fence itself. I hadn't noticed it before, but the small hole in one of the boards is glaringly obvious now. It's at the right height and just big enough that a person could sit at the fence, put an eye to the hole, and watch everything that was happening in the backyard. At night, with lights on in the house, the kitchen and dining room are probably easy to see, too.

But that's not the worst of it.

Arcing over the hole is a series of scratchings…words. Because the wood is still yellow and new, it's not easy to see what's written, but when I stoop down beside Edward, I can make out what it says.

 ** _Proverbs 15:3 The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil_ _and the good_ _._**

The phrase "and the good" has been struck out with a deep, angry gash. And surrounding the verse, etched into the wood with painstaking precision, are small, carefully-aligned crosses.

Hundreds of them.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

* * *

She looks worse than last time.

Her hair hangs in tangled strings, and I can tell it hasn't been washed in a while. There are stains on the front of her wrinkled shirt. Even in the bright florescent light of the community center's office room, shadows cut across her face and highlight its bony structure.

"How's school?" she asks, her voice raspy and low. "Make any new friends?"

I tug on the skirt of my uniform and wait to answer as a coughing fit overtakes her.

"It's fine, I guess. The kids are alright. There's a guy named Eric who's been showing me around."

"Yeah? You like him?"

"Mama! I barely know him. It's only been a week." I glance down at my lap, a little embarrassed. "But it doesn't matter. I already have a boyfriend."

"You do? Who is it?" She scowls. "Damn, you're not talkin' about that Masen kid, are you?"

"What's wrong with Edward?" I ask, my eyes narrowing.

"You mean besides havin' a crazy dad that tried to kill you? You need to stay away from that family, Bella. You already had to change schools once 'cause of them."

"Mr. Masen's the reason I had to change, not Edward or Esme or Mary Alice."

"Yeah, but…" Mama lets out a sigh, her shoulders drooping like they're suddenly too heavy to hold up. "I just want you to be safe, baby. That's all."

I close my eyes to keep from rolling them. She might mean well, but I can't help thinking of all the times my safety never crossed her mind. A few weeks of caring doesn't wipe out years of neglect.

" _Carlisle's_ doing everything he can for us," I say, not quite able to keep the edge out of my voice. "It'll be fine."

Hurt flashes across her features, and I immediately feel guilty.

"Okay, just…be careful."

Neither of us says anything for a minute. Mama twists the bottom of her untucked blouse between her fingers, and I stare at the patterns on the floor, trying to sort through the confused thoughts in my head. I'm sorry I made her feel bad...but I can't seem to let go of my anger towards her. I'm happy that she's still interested in trying to do better by me...but I wish she would worry more about her own health right now.

She's the one to finally break the silence, asking how I like living in a suburb. I tell her it's nice; the McCartys own a fancy house in a pretty neighborhood called Whispering Pines. They have a lot of space, and I get my own room. I'm barely in it except to sleep, though. When I'm don't have school, I'm usually a few houses away at Jasper and Cynthia Cullen's place, where the Masens are staying.

After Edward had discovered the hole in the fence, Carlisle moved us to his brother and sister's houses that very same night. You need a special card to get through the gate into their neighborhood, and Carlisle thought Mr. Masen would have a harder time trying to find us there.

The police went to Carlisle's house to check out the situation but apparently didn't think much of the new evidence. Though there were signs of a trail leading into the woods, they only followed it about a hundred feet before claiming the underbrush was too thick to go any farther.

Carlisle, Emmett, and Rosalie spent an entire day searching the area on their own, but they didn't have any luck, either. Emmett's trying to find someone with a tracking dog since the cops won't send theirs.

Mama isn't happy about me staying with the McCartys. She tells me that she got her old job back and has been clean since detoxing. If she passes a drug test in two weeks, she'll be allowed to bring me back home.

I don't know how to feel about that. On one hand, Mama looks like she needs someone to help her out, to make sure she takes care of herself. Though she's been a pretty crappy parent for as long as I can remember, I don't want anything bad to happen to her. And maybe we'll never be best friends or anything, but it'd be nice if our relationship was better.

On the other hand, it's such a relief living in a place where I don't have to worry if I'll have electricity in the morning or if I'll be able to stretch another month's use out of my worn sneakers. I can count on three full meals a day and even dessert with dinner since Rosalie has such a sweet tooth.

It's more than just having _stuff_ , though. I love how close Carlisle's family is and how they all help each other out. They're not even related to me, yet they still seem interested in my happiness. Maybe Mama's trying to be like that now, but I won't know if it'll last until it actually does.

There are two other big negatives that come with going back home. Whispering Pines is across town, and the more time I spend with Edward, the closer we get. I hate the thought of being so separated.

But worst of all, Mama lives right beside a property still owned by Mr. Masen. I don't know how he found us at Carlisle's or what he knows about my situation, but it's obvious that going back home isn't the best idea.

Mama doesn't see it that way.

"The police drive by every couple days," she argues. "He'd hafta be pretty stupid to go back."

"I don't know about stupid, but he's definitely crazy," I mutter, trying not to think about how well I know that fact.

"It'll be okay. The man's not gonna bust into our house or anything. I already told you, he wouldn't of messed with you if you'd stayed outta his business."

I open my mouth but then close it again in resigned frustration. There's no point in arguing: her mind's set on having me come home, and there's not much I can do about it.

A group of people walking by the glass windows of the office catches my attention. Mama frowns at the sight.

"Guess my support meeting's starting soon," she says with a sigh. "I'd better not be late."

We stand up and share an awkward hug. I have to hold my breath to keep from gagging on the strong smell of cigarette smoke, restaurant food, and body odor.

"Why don't you relax and take to a bubble bath or something when you get home?" I suggest as casually as possible. "You've been working some long shifts, right?"

"Been tryin' to." She gives me a weak smile and self-consciously tucks a ratty lock of hair behind her ear. The defeated look in her eyes makes me feel guilty all over again.

Carlisle is waiting for me in the parking lot of the community center. I'd taken a bus here after school to meet Mama and could've caught another one to Whispering Pines, but he prefers to drive me around as much as possible.

"How's your mom?" he asks when I climb into his truck.

"She's okay."

I tried to sound upbeat, but he catches the grimace that flickers across my face.

"Did something happen?"

"No, not really…" I fiddle with the straps of my backpack, trying to put my feelings into words. "It's just…I feel bad that things are going so well for me when she's having a hard time. She looks really tired. I dunno, maybe I should spend a day there this weekend, get some stuff done for her...maybe some laundry, clean up the house a little...she might not know that trash gets picked up on Mondays..."

"Hold on a sec, Bella," Carlisle says, cutting off my mumbling. "If you want to go over and help, that's fine, but you shouldn't feel guilty that someone's finally taking care of you. You're not responsible for your mom; it's the other way around. And honestly, it would probably be best for her to figure things out on her own. If she doesn't learn, then what? Are you going to take care of her forever? What about when you become an adult? What if you go to college?"

"College? Yeah, right." I shake my head in disbelief. "I pretty much take it a week at a time. Forget about years from now. And really, college…me? That's a funny thought."

"Why? I saw your transcripts, and your grades up to this point have been fine. Keep it up, and you shouldn't have any problem getting into a good school. There are plenty of need-based scholarships these days if tuition is what you're worried about."

"Mm-hmm," I reply in a distracted tone. His talk about responsibility has gotten me thinking.

"Oh, before I forget, did Renee give you any bills today?"

"What? Oh, um, yeah, I have the one for water and sewer in my backpack."

Carlisle insisted on taking care of the utility bills once he figured out why I was babysitting so much. He thinks that any money I make should be spent on "fun teenager things," whatever that is.

It's yet another way he's helping me, and I just don't get it.

Bemused, I turn in his direction. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go for it," he says, sparing me an encouraging glance from his focus on the road.

"Okay, well, you're doing all this stuff for me and the Masens—you know, letting us living with you, paying for things, trying to keep us safe...even talking to me about college. You were pretty much a stranger a few months ago, and now you're taking care of us. I can't figure it out. Why're you being so nice?"

I pause for a second, a thought occurring to me. "Well, I guess you've got your thing with Esme, and that would explain Edward and Merr…but then, why me?"

His eyes widen, and his mouth gapes open, though no sound comes out. He tries unsuccessfully to speak a few times before finally pulling into a gas station and putting the truck in park.

"What did you mean, my 'thing with Esme'?" he asks in a cautious voice. His fingers nervously drum on the steering wheel. "What thing?"

"Are you serious?" Now I'm wearing the incredulous expression. "We know you like her. It's been obvious since Day One, when you fixed up her cuts."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replies curtly, shifting his glance away from me. "It's true that she's a kind and caring woman…attractive, yes…but just because I _like_ her doesn't mean that I—" His hand flies up to grab at his hair in alarm. "Damn, that came out wrong. I like her as a person, of course, but I don't like her in _that_ way. I couldn't. It would just be…inappropriate. She's married, and I would never…well, not while she's…anyway…"

His voice trails off in the quietest of sighs.

"Why doesn't she just end it?" I ask. "There's gotta be a way people can divorce the psycho husbands who try to kill them, right?"

The corner of his mouth tugs downward even farther. "It's possible. She could file for divorce, and if her husband doesn't contest by the court date, it would be granted."

"Well, there's no way he's going to show up in court because if he does, he'll be arrested! That's perfect!" I exclaim. "What's she waiting for? Why hasn't she filed yet?"

"She won't ever. Esme doesn't believe in divorce." He speaks quietly and looks completely disheartened. "Her church forbids it."

I nearly bounce out of my seat in disbelief. "What the hell? She's not allowed to divorce a guy who beat the crap out of her and their children? That's completely insane!"

"Bella, come on now. You should be respectful of other people's religions," he says, though it sounds more like he's trying to remind himself than scold me. He scrubs a hand across his face and then focuses his gaze on me. "There are all kinds of people in the world, and you're going to come across ones who don't think like you. If you want to get along, you have to be understanding and try to see their point of view."

Carlisle's stare gets more intense. "Don't forget that Edward was raised with the same beliefs as Esme. It'll affect your relationship with him, no matter what kind it is."

Like a bucket of ice water over my head, his words cool me down right away.

It's weird hearing him mention me and Edward together like that. I'm not used to talking to adults about, well, much of anything. It was bad enough when Rosalie pulled me aside last week to find out what I knew about safe sex. I'd had Family Life classes in middle school, but she went into way more detail, complete with plenty of high-resolution pictures found on Google. Blanching at the sight of diseased penises and women giving birth, I assured her that I wasn't planning on becoming active any time soon.

When Carlisle shifts in his seat like he's uncomfortable and clears his throat, I'm worried he might be about to give me The Talk, too.

"Um, just so you know, Edward and I aren't doing, you know... _it_ ," I say, hoping to stop the conversation before it starts. "And Rosalie already covered everything, so...yeah…"

"Right, she, uh, mentioned that to me." He clears this throat again. "I just thought I'd check to make sure you don't have any, um…male-specific questions…or things like that…"

"No, I'm good," I answer quickly. "But…thanks."

"Sure, any time."

He lets out a breath of air in relief and moves the truck's gearshift. We leave the parking lot and continue the drive to Whispering Pines.

"By the way," Carlisle says after a few minutes, "the answer to your earlier question is 'because someone needs to.' That's why I'm helping you and the Masens. You were all betrayed by people who were supposed to love and take care of you. You deserve a break, to have some happiness in your lives—and I'm grateful for what little I can do to make things better."

I've always thought of myself as strong person, a tough girl, a survivor, but Carlisle's words choke me up. I look out the passenger-side window to hide my watery eyes.

"It's _a lot_ better, thanks to you. I still can't believe you're doing all this for us, but…thank you. Really."

My voice is gruff from the emotions I'm feeling, and I'm pretty sure my cheeks are pink. Carlisle mumbles an equally raspy "you're welcome." We sit in awkward silence for the rest of the ride. I'm relieved when the gate opens to let us into Whispering Pines.

I climb out of the truck, and immediately, the delicious smell of barbecue makes my mouth water. Although I'm hungry, I'm irritated that it's dinnertime. I'll have to sit down and eat with the McCartys instead of running over to see Edward. I'm grateful for the food, but it's weird for me to be on a schedule other than my own.

Like, annoyingly weird.

I try to check my attitude at the door, but there's no need. A genuine smile grows on my face when I step into the foyer.

"Bel-la! Bel-la, come play wif me!"

Mary Alice stands up from her pile of toys and toddles over to me at a pretty good speed. Physical therapy has really been helping her balance and coordination. Her speech has gotten better, too. It's only been six weeks since she first started her therapy sessions, but the difference in her is easy to see and hear.

"Hey, Merry-Merr!" I say, sweeping her into my arms and twirling us around. "How's my pretty girl?"

"Come play, come play!"

I walk over to the toys and set her down with a smile. "I'll play soon, but first I need to put my stuff away and see what's going on in the kitchen. I'll be back, okay?"

"O-tay, o-tay," she says with a little huff that would be sort of rude if it wasn't so cute.

I chuckle and glance up at Cynthia Cullen, who's relaxing on the couch. She's flipping through a magazine as she keeps an eye on Mary Alice.

"Don't look at me," Cynthia says sheepishly, hiding her head behind the magazine's pages. "I have no idea where she gets the attitude. Unless it's Jasper. You know how sassy he is."

"Uh-huh, right."

Carlisle's brother is about as far from sassy as a person can be. He's the epitome of calm and collected. In fact, he's so mellow that he's almost…boring. But that's probably why he and Cynthia make such a good match. She has more than enough personality for both of them.

"How's Esme doing?" I ask, watching Mary Alice stack colored rings on a plastic column. Cynthia works at home for the landscaping business and has been taking care of Mary Alice while Esme recovers from a bad virus, probably the flu.

"Really weak and sleeping a lot." Cynthia frowns. "I'm half-tempted to spike her drink and take her to the hospital while she's knocked out. She should getting better by now."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," I mutter, shaking my head in frustration at Esme's beliefs about medical care. Even with Mary Alice's obvious improvements, she still isn't convinced that therapy is acceptable to God.

"Anyhow, I decided we'd eat here this evening to give her some quiet."

I try and fail to keep from smiling. Cynthia can get pretty loud during conversations, and Mary Alice has recently discovered the joy of shouting. Edward's complained to me about the noise level more than once.

Speaking of Edward…

"The men are out back, probably standing around the grill, poking at hunks of animal flesh and watching them change color."

My nose scrunches up at her words, and Cynthia chuckles at my reaction.

I've barely left the family room on my way to the kitchen when Edward comes charging into the house from the backyard. The mischievous light in his eyes causes me to brace for some sort of tickle attack. I gasp in surprise as he grabs my hand and continues to the stairs leading to the second level. His legs are much longer than mine, and I have to take a few jogging steps to keep up with him.

"What's going on?" I ask with a laugh. "What are you in such a hurry to—mff!"

I'm not prepared for the enthusiastic kiss that Edward lays on me the moment we enter my room. His arms pull me into his body as his lips tug on mine. He's gotten very comfortable with kissing me in the past few weeks, even cocky at times.

Now would be one of those times.

My backpack slides off my shoulder and hits the carpeted floor with a dull thud. For a minute, I give as good as I get. It's so easy to forget the rest of the world when I'm with him. But before that can happen, I put my hands on his chest and take a step back.

"What was that about?" I ask, giggling while trying to calm my racing heart.

He puts on his best "who me?" expression. "I was just saying hi to you. You know, like I always do."

"Yeah, right. You say hi like _that_ all the time, especially in front of everyone else." I couldn't put more sarcasm in my voice if I wanted.

"Hey, I haven't seen you since Sunday," he whines playfully. "That was _forever_ ago."

"It hasn't even been two days yet!" My words turn into a shriek when he finally unleashes the tickle attack I'd expected before.

"Two of the longest days of my _life_!"

I twist away from him and grab a pillow from the bed to use as a shield. "You'd better quit it! If I don't get down there to help with dinner soon, Rosalie's gonna—"

With perfect timing, a yell echoes through the house.

"Bella! Stop messing around with your boyfriend and come set the table. Edward, you know you're not supposed to be in her room!"

My cheeks turn red in embarrassment. "Great. Thanks a lot for that," I grumble. "Now move it, jerk, before I get in more trouble." To emphasize my point, I smack him in the face with the pillow on my way toward the door.

He seems to find my reaction hilarious and collapses onto my bed in a fit of laughter.

"Aw, come on, Bella," he calls as I stomp into the hallway. "You know I love you."

I almost trip and fall down the stairs.

 _What_ did he just say?

Was he serious? I mean, I know he was joking around with me, but could there be any sort of truth in his words? My stomach does excited flip-flops at the thought.

Edward means so much to me. He was my first friend, and for years, he was the only one I had. We helped each other survive terrible situations while developing a relationship through a hole in an old fence. Somewhere along the our rocky paths, he became more than just a friend. He became an important part of my life.

But what kind of part?

I've seen kids at school "go out" with each other. I've noticed couples walking the halls holding hands, kissing, fighting, breaking up. They tell one another "I love you" like it's no big deal.

Maybe it isn't. I don't have enough experience to know.

Edward's the first person who's said those words to me. Ever.

He could've been joking around . Maybe he meant he loves me as a friend, which would be an amazing thing, of course. But I care about him more than that, and it seems like a big deal to me. My feelings are _more_ in the same way Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's feelings for each other were _more_...like Jack and Rose...Peeta and Katniss...

I let out a sigh of longing.

A tiny part of me wants to run back to him and demand some answers, but Rosalie will chase me down if I stall any longer. When I meet her in the dining room, she puts me to work right away. I soon realize that I'm glad to have something to do as a distraction. Laying out place settings out for seven people and one toddler doesn't keep me from completely obsessing over Edward's words, but it helps.

After a few minutes, he comes downstairs to give me a hand. Edward seems perfectly normal and completely casual—like he didn't just say something that has me suffering an internal freak-out. I'd probably be spastic on the outside, too, if Rosalie and Cynthia weren't around.

Carlisle, Jasper, and Emmett bring in steaks and hamburgers just as we finish uncovering the side dishes. Everyone gathers around the table. I give Edward a shy smile and take a seat beside him.

The dining room is strangely quiet after grace is said. I'm surprised to see serious expressions on all the men's faces. Rosalie and Cynthia don't seem to be bothered, but Edward and I exchange confused glances. It doesn't take long for my anxiety to grow high enough that I need to speak up.

"Is something going on?" I ask, turning to Carlisle. His troubled gaze gives me a clue. "Is it…about Edward's dad?"

Edward puts down his fork and looks at the men with wide, fearful eyes. Carlisle seems to be carrying on some sort of silent conversation with Emmett, who is shaking his head. Jasper frowns at them both.

"Oh please," Rosalie finally says in a sarcastic voice, drawing everyone's attention to her. "They deserve to know. With all the shit they've gone through, I'm pretty sure they'll be able to handle it."

As glad as I am for her vote of confidence, I'm more worried than ever. Edward finds my hand under the table and squeezes it tightly. I'm not sure if he's doing it for his benefit or mine.

Carlisle stares at Emmett a little while longer, then opens his mouth like he going to say something. But it's Emmett who speaks first.

"Listen, kids. I'll be honest. I don't think there's any reason to tell you, but since Carlisle's going to do it, anyway, you might as well hear it from me. I finally lined up the services of a tracking dog," he says. "Jasper and I went out with the handler today and got some results. First off, we know that Ed Masen sat at the fence long enough to leave his scent there. The dog was given an article of his, and she took us straight to that spot. It doesn't look like Masen came any closer to the house, though.

"The dog was able to find his trail, and it led out of the woods to a side road. The trail disappeared after that, so either he'd left his car there, or someone picked him up. The road doesn't have a shoulder, and since none of the plant growth along the easement looked crushed or broken…"

"Are you saying that...someone is working with him?" I ask in horror. "Who would do that?"

"We've considered it," Carlisle says gently. "If he was hurt as badly as you said, he probably would've needed some help recovering. We don't know how much money he had on him that day, but Esme doesn't think he has a bank account because of his paranoia. I've asked her if she knows of anyone, maybe a close friend at church, that would've take him in and—"

"Brothers Peter, James, and Andrew."

Everyone looks at Edward, who's staring down at his plate with a blank expression on his face.

Emmett is all business. He pulls out a pen and a small notebook from his back pocket and holds them at the ready. "Who are they?"

"My dad's best friends from church," Edward intones. "He worked with them at the publishing shop. I saw them get together to have discussions about the Bible, the government, the wickedness of society...things like that. But they're not really brothers, and that's not their real names. They used the names of the apostles, the ones in Jesus's Inner Circle. My dad was 'John.'"

"Does that have something to do with him calling your mom 'Rebecca'?" I ask, suddenly remembering a scene from the day he attacked us.

"Yeah. He said it was her Christian name. 'Rebecca' comes from a Hebrew word that means 'to tie up,' either like a noose or the way cattle used to be tied up to keep them from running away."

Edward's voice is flat and emotionless. I tighten my grip on his hand, but he doesn't respond. The adults wear sympathetic expressions—everyone except Emmett. He's completely focused on his investigation.

"Tell me everything you know about your dad's friends," he says to Edward. "Let's start with their real names, and then—"

"Hold on a sec," Cynthia interrupts. "How about you do that later, Em? Maybe _after_ dinner? The kiddos need to eat...and so do you."

The burly man doesn't look happy about waiting but grudgingly puts his notebook away. Carlisle starts talking about a landscaping job he and Jasper are working on, and Rose asks him a lot of questions. Cynthia makes a big fuss over Mary Alice's successful use of her spoon. I know they're trying to act normal for Edward's sake and mine, but it's going to take more than fake-happy conversation to bring up our moods.

I do my best to eat the food on my plate though I've totally lost my appetite. When the doorbell rings, I'm glad for the interruption.

"I'll get it!" I sing out, jumping up from my seat.

Emmett is quick to shoot that idea down.

"You'd better let me," he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

I slump into my chair and try not to pout like a little kid. Emmett walks back into the dining room after a minute, his hands holding a small cardboard box. Brow wrinkled in concentration, he gives it a little jiggle and examines the seams.

"Was that the mailman?" Rosalie asks.

He nods at his wife. "Yeah. I left the letters by the stairs, but this…this is has Bella's name on it. No return address."

"For me?" I say in surprise. "That's weird. Mama's the only person I gave an address to, but she didn't tell me she was sending something."

I reach toward the package, but Emmett doesn't seem eager to give it over.

"Is it safe?" Carlisle asks, his glance darting between me and the box in his brother-in-law's hands.

"Safe?" I echo in disbelief. "What, you think maybe he sent it? But how could he know where I am? We moved just a couple weeks ago, and you need a card thingy to get past the gate, right?"

"We're only being careful, Bella." Sitting to my right, Jasper puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's probably something from your mom, or maybe even from school. We just don't want to take any chances with your safety."

"How dangerous could a little box be? I mean, it's not ticking or anything, is it?"

I giggle nervously and look at Edward, who's now staring at the package. Worried about the lifelessness I see in his eyes, I tug on his hand until he acknowledges me with a shake of his head.

"Not now," he mumbles, pulling out of my grasp and sliding to the far edge of his chair. He doesn't glance my way even once.

I gape at him in shock and sadness. After all we've been through, I can't believe he's shutting me out again. His rejection cuts deep, causing stinging hurt and frustration.

For the second time today, tears well up in my eyes. It seems impossible that the person I was having so much fun with a little while ago—who had said _those_ words—is the same one now treating me so coldly.

I think about excusing myself from the table to pull myself together, but a ripping sound brings my attention back to the briefly forgotten package. Emmett carefully peels away packing tape from the top flaps and opens the box. The rest of us watch in anticipation as he begins pulling out several layers of tissue paper.

"Huh, I don't see anything except…oh. Maybe this is it…"

He takes out a small-ish item wrapped up in more tissue paper and then grimaces.

"Whatever this is, it smells off. I hope it's not food that's gone bad. I wonder if…what the _hell_?"

The room is completely silent as Emmett lowers his hand to give us a better view. Time seems to stand still when we take in the sight.

It's the shriveled, decaying head of a black snake.

Cynthia gasps, Carlisle curses, and then a flurry of conversation breaks out. I hear exclamations of surprise, confusion, and disgust, but my mind barely registers the words. I'm too busy trying to figure out why my heart is pounding and shivers of fright are running up and down my spine.

It _is_ a disturbing sight, and I'm horrified that someone—probably a man who's already tried to kill me once—sent this to me at a place where I'm supposed to be safe. But...there's more than that behind my fear. I have the terrible feeling I'm missing something about the meaning of my grisly "gift."

Something big. Something important.

Edward looks like he's fighting with the same issue. His head is tilted to the side, the skin over his jaw stretched tight as if he's clenching his teeth together. Anxiety has sparked to life on his face, and I can practically feel his strain as he tries to put the pieces together.

For some reason, a cliché pops into my addled brain.

 _The tension around him is so thick you could cut it with a knife._

A knife.

Like the one Mr. Masen had.

Images from that day flash through my mind, sounds echo in my ears as I'm hearing them all over again.

The thud of a heavy boot making contact with flesh. Edward's dead eyes and empty gaze. _Honor thy father and mother._ Esme scrambling on her hands and knees to escape. The glint of sharpened metal raised above me. _His hand has pierced the fleeing serpent._

Fleeing serpent.

Mr. Masen had called me a serpent and condemned me to death.

Edward jerks in his seat just as my hands fly up to cover my mouth. He turns his head and looks at me for the first time since dinner began. Our expressions of terror are identical; we both understand the intended message.

Mr. Masen is tracking me down, and it's clear he plans to finish what he started almost two months ago.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

* * *

 **I'm sorry this is such a long time coming. I can't say I've ever had a harder time writing a chapter and have no idea why. True, it's much longer than usual, but still, it was a serious struggle.. Thank you SO much to Powered by 23 Kicks for encouraging me, listening to me whine, and then pretty much acting as a beta for this one. (I did the final edits, so all mistakes are mine.)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

* * *

"Dammit, Carlisle, that doesn't make any sense!"

"What other choice do I have? There's a good chance they'll be hurt or even killed."

I don't mean to eavesdrop. When I wake up around midnight and step out of my room to get some water, I hear the four adults talking in the living room. They sound frustrated and upset.

I decide to skip the drink and climb back into bed, but then I realize the subject of their discussion.

Mr. Masen.

I take a quick step back and slide down against the wall to sit on the floor. It's dark upstairs, so I'm able to see through the railing and watch what's going on below without them noticing me.

Rosalie's sitting on the couch beside Emmett, and she's worked up about something. "There's got to be a better solution than packing up and moving to another city!" she exclaims, her arms flailing around as she speaks. "What about your house, your business, your _family_?"

Carlisle winces. "It wouldn't be forever. Just until he's caught."

"It very well could be forever," she retorts. "And even if it's not that long, what are you going to do about the business?" She turns to Jasper, who's in an armchair to her right. "Can you believe he's okay with screwing you and Cee over like that?"

"He's not screwing us over. We'll manage if we have to. I understand why he wants to go." The blond-haired man gives his older brother a sympathetic look. "He cares about them."

"So do I, but he's not being realistic. How's he going to fund this little expedition, exactly?"

"I'm not exactly poor," Carlisle huffs. "I have money in the bank."

"Which will last you, what, nine months…a year, maybe? No income, a mortgage here, plus rent wherever you end up, all the living expenses…the money's going to run out faster than you think."

"I'll make it work—get another job if I have to. It's worth it to make sure they're safe."

"That _she's_ safe, you mean."

"Rose—" Emmett warns.

"No, he needs to think about what's going on here. He's throwing himself in the situation—turning his entire life upside down—for an ultra-religious _married_ woman who refuses to divorce her abusive husband. I don't know what kind of fairy tale he's got in his head, but there's no way this can have a happy ending."

"I don't care," Carlisle says quietly, meeting his sister's flashing eyes. "I love her. That's good enough for me."

Rosalie lets out a sort of groaning scream sound and flings herself back against the couch cushions. Wearing a concerned expression, Emmett leans in close and says something to her that I can't hear. Eventually, she nods, puts a hand on her abdomen, and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I'm sorry," she tells Carlisle, her voice low. "I shouldn't have gone off like that, it's just…I'm already worried about how dangerous this situation is, and if you move someplace where we won't be able to get to you right away...and if something happens, and…oh God, what if something _does_ happen…"

I'm surprised when she hides her face in Emmett's shoulder and starts sniffling. She's never seemed like the waterworks type to me. But Jasper looks as though he knows what's going on.

"Are you…pregnant?" he asks carefully.

Emmett gives Jasper a wary half-grin and puts an arm around his wife. "Yeah, she is."

Jasper nods as a smile stretches across his face, but Carlisle just appears stunned.

"Wow, congrats, Rose. How far along are you?"

She wipes her eyes on Emmett's sleeve and faces her bothers. "Um, just over sixteen weeks."

"Sixteen—?" Carlisle gasps, his eyes dropping to the flowing fabric covering her stomach. "When were you going to tell us? What were you waiting for?"

"Well, um, you know how a lot of people want to get through the first trimester before saying anything…and then I got busy with that state trial…" Rosalie's gaze drops to her lap as she begins fiddling with the hem of her blouse. "I wasn't trying to shut you out, but I…well…"

"You were worried we'd be upset because of our own situations," Jasper finishes. He moves to kneel down on the floor in front of her and puts a hand on her knee. "That was really nice of you, sis, but completely not necessary. I'm _thrilled_ for you guys, and I know Cynthia will be, too. The fact that we can't have kids of our own just means we'll have extra time to spoil yours."

"Thanks, Jas," she says, leaning forward to meet him in a hug as the tears start up again.

When Jasper gets up to congratulate Emmett, Carlisle takes the place in front of Rosalie.

"Ditto the spoiling part," he says to her with a sincere smile. "I know how much you've always wanted kids, and I'm really happy that I get to be an uncle. It's the only important thing. I don't want you to spend another second worrying about me."

"Yeah, but—"

"I'm serious: not another second. It happened years ago, and I'm over it."

"Really?"

Carlisle's pause is a beat too long. "Yes, really."

Rosalie wears a skeptical look that gets swept away in the careful but enthusiastic hug that he gives her.

They all start talking baby stuff, but I'm stuck in my head trying to process everything I just heard. Carlisle moving away, giving up his business, loving Esme. Rosalie's pregnancy, Jasper and Cynthia's inability to have kids, some sort of issue in Carlisle's past. It makes my head spin and my stomach feel sick.

I'm really worried about Carlisle's plan to leave the city. Is he moving right away? What does that mean for me? Can I go with him, or will I have to stay here?

It seems I'm not the only one with those types of questions. I'm pulled from my thoughts when I hear my name.

"…do about Bella?"

It's Jasper, and he's looking at Carlisle.

"I don't know," he sighs. "I'm going to see if Renee will come with me to the police tomorrow when I take in the snake. I'll need to stop by DCF and give them an update, too. Renee's drug test is in two weeks, and if she passes, she'll get custody back."

"I don't like the idea of Bella going back to that woman," Rosalie states. "She can't be trusted. And wouldn't it make more sense, safety-wise, if Bella stayed away from her house? There's got to be some way we can keep her with us."

Emmett shifts his body as if he's uncomfortable. "Yeah…about that. You all know I want to help her as much as anyone, but now that it looks like Masen or whoever has found out she's here, well…Rose and the baby are my number one priority. I have to make sure they're as safe as possible."

"And what exactly does _that_ mean?" Rosalie says, her eyes narrowing as she turns to him.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think she should stay here after this. It's too risky."

"Are you kidding me? She needs us more than ever!"

"I understand that, but when it comes to our child, there's no way I'm going to let you—"

"Emmett Christopher McCarty," Rosalie growled, "you'd better be _very_ careful what comes out of your mouth next."

The room is dead quiet as husband and wife stare at each other, Rosalie practically shooting fire from her eyes and Emmett looking like he's thinking hard and fast about what to say. I have almost zero relationship experience, but I even I know he screwed that one up.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Look, hon, we need to think about the worst-case scenario. Masen is a zealot who believes he's acting in the name of God. If he comes after Bella and you're standing in the way, it'll be nothing to him to hurt an innocent person. I can't let that happen."

"She's innocent, too!" Rosalie shrieks. "This isn't one of your old Special Ops missions with priority personnel and acceptable collateral damage."

"Rose—"

"No. Don't you even. I'm not going to sit here and listen to—"

"Stop, both of you," Jasper cuts in. "Bella will stay with us. No big deal."

Everyone looks at the youngest brother, who's wearing an unconcerned expression.

"Are you sure you sure?" Carlisle asks slowly, as if he's afraid he might jinx the words. "Cynthia's already splitting her time between the business, taking care of Esme, and watching Mary Alice...not to mention overseeing Edward's home schooling…"

"You were doing the same thing a few weeks ago. Are you saying my wife's less capable that you?" Jasper says with teasing smile.

"Of course not! But they're my responsibility, not yours. You all have already helped me so much. I don't want to ask—"

"You're not asking, I'm offering. Cee loves having company at home during the day. She absolutely adores little Merr, and Esme's become a good friend. Edward's pretty self-sufficient, and he does more than his share of the housework. Bella's the same way. It really won't be a problem. They're great kids, especially considering what they've been through."

"I know; it's pretty amazing," Carlisle asks, his voice full of emotion. "I can't even say how much I appreciate this, Jas. Thanks so much."

"Yeah, thank you," Rosalie says with a quick glare to the side for Emmett. "I'll call Cee and work out the details, but _I'm_ in no hurry for her to leave."

"Come on, hon, that's not fair. I really like having Bella here, but what kind of husband and father would I be if I didn't put your safety first?"

"The kind who trusts my decisions and doesn't try to tell me what to do…"

They continue going back and forth, but I've heard enough. Tears are welling up in my eyes, and I want to bury myself under the covers before the crying begins. I shut the door quietly behind me once I'm back in the guest room and then climb into bed.

My mind _knows_ this whole mess isn't my fault, but I can't help feeling like I'm screwing up people's lives, like I'm nothing but a burden. And even though I understand his thinking, it really hurt to hear Emmett say he didn't want me to stay in the house anymore.

As it is, I still haven't gotten over Edward's cold shoulder from dinner. After I spoke up about the significance of the "gift" Mr. Masen send me, the adults burst into frenzied discussion and basically forgot about us. I'd completely lost my appetite, and Edward didn't eat much either. We both sat silently and played with the food on our plates.

When Mary Alice started to fuss in her high chair, I jumped up to take care of her. I couldn't bear to see the dullness in his eyes when Edward looked at me, but not _at_ me. It's a horrible feeling when he goes to a place inside his head where I don't exist.

I'm pretty sure no one else recognized Edward's behavior for what it was— a deeper, more serious issue than just a normal reaction of shock. I want him to snap out of it soon, but on the other hand, it might be a good thing if he's still like this during his first mental health session on Friday. Because of the Masens' lack of health insurance, it had taken a while for him to get an appointment through the state medical program.

Carlisle's been wanting me to see someone, too, but I always say I'm doing fine. For the most part, I feel like I'm dealing well enough. But despite that, I think Carlisle would send me anyway if I was really his kid.

Sometimes, I let myself wonder what it would be like if that was true. Especially now...

Maybe if I thought that I belonged somewhere, that someone truly loved me and wanted me, then I wouldn't be so sensitive about feeling rejected. I'm used to it from Mama, but tonight, the combination of Edward's actions, Emmett's words, and the atmosphere of danger is just too much for me to handle.

Quiet sobs take over my body and shake me to the core. I press my fists over my eyes as I try to block out the rapid churning of dark thoughts and rampant fear in my head. I'm so tired of worrying and trying to keep from falling part at the seams.

I'm tired of it all. I just want it to be over.

Some time later in the night, my shuddering sighs finally fade into regular breathing. I'm still buried under the covers when I hear the door to my room creak slowly open. At first, I have the crazy worry that it's Mr. Masen or one of his friends, but then Rosalie's voice wafts through the darkness.

"Hang in there, kiddo," she murmurs. "You're gonna make it through this."

I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm asleep, so I stay quiet and keep my breathing as even as possible. After a few seconds, she sighs heavily and closes the door. I wait until I hear water running in her bathroom and then pull the covers away from my face. The cooler air outside of my cocoon feels good on my tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. It's been a long, draining evening, and I'm exhausted, body and mind.

I repeat Rosalie's words to myself over and over until finally falling into a restless sleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

* * *

 **DCF – Department of Children and Families**

 **Thanks for reading! xxoo**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

* * *

I smooth down my hair for the sixth time in the last half hour.

Cynthia laughs and swats at my arm.

"Oh, stop it," she chides with a grin. "You look great, and he's going to be thrilled to see you."

"I hope so."

We're sitting in her dining room polishing the silver serving pieces that she'll be using for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. Fall-themed decorations have been put in place, the fancy dinnerware and cloth napkins are waiting to be laid out, and the two pumpkin pies baking in the oven send their delicious aroma wafting through the house. Apparently, when Cynthia Cullen does a holiday, she does it big.

I glance at the grandfather clock in the corner and sigh. It's only been two minutes since the last time I checked it.

Cynthia laughs again.

With an annoyed huff, I grab a sugar bowl off the table, dab some polish on the metal, and begin rubbing away the hazy blue with a soft cloth. It's boring work, but I guess it's better than staring at the stupid clock. I feel like that's all I've been doing for the past four weeks: waiting for time to pass.

It turns out that when Carlisle sets his mind to something, he makes it happen pretty fast. Within three days of the snake head package arriving, he'd signed a contract on a furnished apartment in another city. Two days after that, I was saying goodbye to him and the Masens as they climbed into Emmett's SUV on their way to the airport. Cynthia told me the new apartment was only a 90 minute drive from us, but Carlisle wanted to fly so that they couldn't be followed. He was doing everything he could think of to keep their location a secret.

I moved in with Jasper and Cynthia that same evening. Though I could've taken the bigger guest room, I chose the one Edward had just left. Cynthia changed the sheets on the bed, but I pretended they were the same ones he'd been using. Maybe that was a pathetic thing to do, but it helped a little as I cried myself to sleep.

Edward took a while to get over his reaction to the package his dad sent me. I tried to talk to him about it before they moved away, but he mostly blew me off, saying something about wanting to be left alone. I knew if I pushed the issue, we'd just fight, so I backed off and let him be. I couldn't stand the idea of us being mad at each other _and_ cities apart.

It turned out to be a good decision. He changed his tune pretty soon after getting to the new place. Though he hasn't said anything to me about it, I get the feeling he's lonely there and maybe even a little overwhelmed.

We talk about other stuff, though. Cynthia surprised us both with cell phones, and mine's become one of my favorite things ever. I can get in touch with Edward anywhere, anytime. We exchange some form of communication every day—either on the phone, by text, or through email. Mostly, we chat about random things or share funny internet vids. But every once in a while, I'll say I miss him, or he'll tell me he wishes we weren't so far apart.

Since the moment they left, I've been counting the days until they come back to town for Thanksgiving. Now I'm down to hours, maybe less than that. Jasper's already at the airport. If the plane's on schedule, I should be getting a text any minute…

A buzz interrupts my thoughts. Cynthia grins as I snatch my phone off the table.

 ** _Just landed. Can't wait to see you. xx_**

Now I'm smiling, too.

"Ah, young love," Cynthia sighs, setting aside the tray she finished polishing. "I remember my first. He was the baddest boy on the block, and I was all about being a rebel. Tyler and I had absolutely nothing in common except how much we liked making out with each other." She giggles. "We didn't last long, but I learned a lot…if you know what I mean."

"Um, yeah," I say quickly, hoping she doesn't go into detail. "I gotcha."

"Edward's a good kid. You two are cute together." She tilts her head and studies me for a moment. "Of course, you're both really young still. Have fun, stay safe, and don't worry about the serious relationship stuff 'til later."

I'm not entirely sure what she means about "serious relationship stuff," but I'm not about to ask. Cynthia has a habit of over-sharing, and clearing up my confusion isn't worth the risk.

Time ticks by slowly, each second marked by the swing of the grandfather clock's pendulum. It's like some cruel form of audio water torture that makes me want to pull my hair out. Cynthia sees how agitated I am and tries to distract me with more conversation.

"How's your mom doing? Work going okay?" she asks, arranging the finished silver pieces on the beverage serving cart.

"Yeah. She's been taking a lot of hours at the restaurant, and we're almost caught up on bills." The corners of my mouth turn down. "Her health still isn't that great though. I think she smokes more than she eats during the week. Maybe I should go there a few more days—"

"Bella, remember what we talked about," Cynthia says, coming to sit on a chair beside me. "I understand you care about your mom, but it's her job to do what's best for you. She agreed that it would be safer if you lived with us during the week and better for your studies to stay at Hickory High. She's trying to do the right thing. You need to let her."

I nod listlessly. It isn't the first time someone's told me this. Heck, pretty much every adult in my life has had this discussion with me, even my CPS case worker, Leah.

"Is she able to get off work any earlier tomorrow?" Cynthia asks, still talking about Mama, who is working the restaurant's Thanksgiving dinner buffet.

"No, but she doesn't think it'll take very long to finish up after her shift and come over. Maybe six-thirty or so?"

"Great! We'll hold off on dessert until then. I'm glad she's able to make it."

The rumbling of a car engine overlaps the end of her comment. I leap up from my seat, scattering the Black Friday sales ads that Cynthia wanted me to look through. She chuckles at my eager expression.

"Why don't you go see if they need any help with their bags? Put on your jacket, though. It's freezing out there."

I do what she says, even though the blood rushing through my veins makes me feel plenty warm. Pulling the front door shut behind me, I bound onto the porch and into the unseasonably frigid November air.

Three Masens and two Cullens are exiting Jasper's silver Chevy Tahoe. Carlisle spots me first and waves.

"Bella! It's great to see you again," he says, giving me a warm smile.

A pink-capped head whips toward me. Mary Alice's eyes are wide with recognition.

"Bella, Bella, Bella!" she shrieks. "I flied in a plane and gotta new toy!" She holds up stuffed tiger that still has a tag in its ear.

"Wow, that's so cool!" I exclaim, bending down as she totters toward me.

Either her enthusiasm or her cerebral palsy issues get the best of her, and she pitches forward, arms outstretched. Luckily, I'm right there to stop her fall before she face-plants onto the concrete walkway. When she gets her balance back, she shoves the tiger at me as if nothing at all happened.

"Look! Itsa tiger!" she squeals.

I wrap my arms around her and the stuffed animal, giving them both a big hug. Edward wasn't the only one I'd missed.

While I get reacquainted with Mary Alice, Jasper and Carlisle take small suitcases out of the back of the Tahoe. Esme pulls a scarf around her neck and turns to Edward, who has just climbed out of the back seat.

"Help them take our things inside," she says quietly, but with a tone of authority in her voice that I've never heard before.

He hesitates for only a moment before grabbing the last remaining suitcase and heading inside. As he passes, he glances down at me, a shy smile on his lips.

"Hey, you," he murmurs.

"Hey," I reply, grinning like an idiot.

A very happy idiot.

I'm startled when Esme reaches out to give me a hug. While I like her well enough, the truth is that I've never really paid much attention to her before. She's always blended into the background, like a potted plant or something.

"Hello, Bella," she says softly. "How have you been?"

I fidget uncomfortably. "Pretty good, I guess. Been busy with school."

Now that she's closer to me, I'm surprised to see how small and frail she looks, even with a heavy winter coat on. Her ashen skin is stretched tight over jutting cheekbones, and her lips have almost no pink in them. There's newfound life in her eyes, however. They're brighter than I've ever seen them.

She takes her daughter's hand, and the three of us walk into the house. I lock the door behind us and latch the chain. Mary Alice immediately scampers off into the kitchen to show Cynthia her new tiger.

"Edward has a lot of schoolwork, too," Esme says, continuing our conversation from outside. "He misses having you around to help with it." She gives me a smile that is surprisingly tender. "Although I'm sure you know he misses more than just that. He cares about you very much."

"Really?" I ask, eyes wide and stomach fluttering. It's thrilling to hear those words spoken with such certainty.

She reaches out a gloved hand to me. "I believe God has brought the two of you together for a reason. You're a strong girl, Bella—a light shining in the darkness. Edward needs you in his life. If he ever loses his way, you will guide him back to the path of righteousness."

I'm not entirely sure what to say to that. I stare at her in silence for a few seconds.

"Uhhh…"

She pats my arm, looking at me like I'm already a hero in her book.

"Have faith," she says. "You'll see."

"See what?"

Edward makes his way down the stairs behind us. I turn toward him, my cheeks pink for more than one reason.

"Bella will come to understand how important she is," Esme answers serenely.

"Oh, well, yeah. Okay."

His face shows confusion much like mine did, but Esme only smiles and heads toward the kitchen.

"What was that all about?" he asks me.

"I honestly have no idea."

"Huh." He seems to think about it for a moment and then shrugs.

I wait for him to say something else, but he just stands in front of me and stares at the floor. My own eyes begin studying patterns in the hardwood as I try to come up with something to ease the awkwardness that's currently between us. When I'd pictured our reunion, I imagined seeing him outside, running over, and then throwing myself in his arms. I hadn't thought to come up with backup plans, and it would be weird if I lunged at him now.

"So, how was your flight?" I say at last.

He seems relieved that I spoke first. "Better than the first time, that's for sure," he replies with a nervous laugh. "I knew what to expect, and the ride wasn't bumpy at all."

I nod, even though I have no idea what it's like to be on a plane. One day, maybe.

"Um, yeah…" He does that Carlisle-like hair tug thing with his hand. "So…Cynthia said we could go downstairs and watch a movie. But Jasper, uh...he wants us to make sure we leave the door open."

"Sounds good," I say quickly, embarrassed that Jasper felt he needed to give us that not-so-subtle warning.

It takes almost ten painful minutes of us acting uncomfortable and weird before things are back to "normal." When the movie starts, we're sitting stiffly on the couch with space between us. First his knee shifts to touch my leg, then I casually stretch until the outside of our thighs are pressed together. When he rolls his shoulder back against the couch and angles toward me, I figure that's supposed to be an invitation to snuggle up against him.

So, with my stomach doing all sorts of frantic flip-flops…I do just that.

It's like all the tension between us melts away when I'm finally settled in that hollow where his arm connects to his chest. I feel safe and happy and right. He rests his cheek against the top of my head, and I smile into his shirt. The kissing and fluttery feelings are amazing, but being together like this is best of all. Halfway through the movie, I drift off to sleep in his arms. Cynthia later pokes us both awake with her usual carefree laugh and sends us up to our separate rooms.

Thanksgiving Day turns out to be much different than the Cullens had planned. The weather forecasts had been calling for light snow over the weekend, but now there's a winter storm watch in effect. In the off-season, CBW Landscaping does snow removal contract work for the city, so Carlisle and Jasper spend much of the day getting their company's equipment ready. Emmett goes along to help, too, even though he has the rest of the week off from his security training job.

Rosalie and Cynthia take charge of the kitchen while Edward and I watch Mary Alice. Esme doesn't come out of her room until late morning and, after helping with lunch, heads right back in.

"What's going on with your mama?" I ask Edward as we take turns rolling a ball across the floor to Mary Alice. "Is she still sick?"

He glances up the stairs and frowns. "I'm not sure. She had some sort of lung infection after the flu but stopped coughing a while back. She still sleeps a lot, though. Me and Carlisle have been doing most of the work around the apartment. He acts worried, but I don't know what's going on. They don't tell me anything."

"Have you asked?"

Edward blinks at me like he's surprised by the thought. "Uh…no, not really."

I roll my eyes. "Come on. I bet Rosalie will tell us."

But she doesn't know much more than Edward. We do find out that Esme's got a doctor's appointment on Monday to look into why she's so weak and tired all the time.

"I'm thinking it's more than just a physical condition," Cynthia says quietly. "She's afraid and anxious about the situation with Ed, and it doesn't help that her relationship with Carlisle is complicated. With everything that's happened, I think she's conflicted over her beliefs in general."

I glance at Edward to see his reaction to the Carlisle comment, but he doesn't look upset. When I ask him about it later, he shrugs.

"It doesn't matter. Mom might want things to be different, but it's not like she'll ever let anything happen with him. And, well…I guess Carlisle's not so bad after all. He pays a lot of attention to her but doesn't, you know, take things too far."

"So you trust him now?" I ask with a smile.

His answer is more of a grunt than a "yes." I laugh.

Thanksgiving dinner was supposed to begin around four o'clock, but it gets pushed back to six so that the men have time to clean up and relax a little. Mama knocks on the door just as we're sitting down to eat.

I can tell she's nervous by the way she doesn't look anyone in the eyes. She holds out a bottle of wine for Cynthia to take.

"Sorry I didn't bring nothin' to eat," she says, staring at the floor. "I don't cook so good."

"This is perfect, thank you, Renee," Cynthia gushes. "And we're all so glad you could make it."

Mama's met the McCartys, Jasper, and Cynthia only a few times. She doesn't say much over dinner, but Cynthia and Carlisle do a good job including her in conversation. Edward's quiet, too, and is acting distant toward me again. I'm pretty sure that has something to do with my mama being here, though. He knows she isn't a fan of our relationship.

It's almost nine by the time we're finished with dinner, dessert, and cleanup. I'm supposed to go with Mama when Carlisle drives her home, but Cynthia manages to talk her into letting me stay so I can "be the wingwoman" for Black Friday shopping in the morning. Mama even gives me forty dollars to spend, though I know we can't afford it. I wouldn't take the money if we were by ourselves, but I don't want to embarrass her. I decide to hold onto it for later.

Cynthia said we would leave early in the morning for the sales, so I'm surprised when I wake up on my own at nine. A peek out the window tells me why. Snow is coming down pretty hard, and it doesn't look like it's going to stop anytime soon.

When I go downstairs, Cynthia and Mary Alice are the only two people around. She tells me that Jasper and Carlisle left hours ago to plow the roads and will probably be out all day. Esme had gotten up earlier but is lying down again, and Edward hasn't come out of his room yet. I fix myself a bowl of cereal and watch Cynthia interact with Mary Alice while I eat.

"See this _red_ scarf?" Cynthia points to her laptop screen. "Don't you think Aunt Rosie would look pretty in it?"

"Wed Aunt Wosie! Wed Wosie! Pitty Wosie!" the toddler exclaims, clapping her hands together.

Cynthia and I chuckle over her difficulty pronouncing the "r" sound.

"That's right. Rrrred, _red_. Can you say _red_?"

"Wed, wed!"

"Eh, it's a start," Cynthia says with a smile. She clicks on the touch pad. "Hey, Merr, here's a scarf in a different color. What color is this?"

The two discuss more colors and clothing items. By the time I'm done with my cereal, Mary Alice is tired of "shopping." Cynthia gives her measuring cups to play with and begins emptying the dishwasher.

"You really like taking care of her, huh?" I comment.

Cynthia glances at the happily entertained child. "She's a sweetheart. I love her feistiness and attitude. Reminds me of myself a little."

"Do you want kids someday?" I ask carefully, wondering if she'll bring up what I overheard Jasper say last month.

She sighs, sounding more defeated than I've ever heard her. "We found out earlier this year that it's not in the cards for Jas and me to get pregnant. I'm hoping to adopt someday, but it's an expensive process—around thirty-five to forty thousand dollars on average. We need to pay off some medical bills before we can start saving up for that."

"Wow, that's…a lot of money."

My eyes are round with astonishment. I can't even imagine such an amount, not when Mama and I have to look at every single dollar we spend. It doesn't make sense to me why adoption would cost so much, either. I thought there were a lot of kids out there than needed homes.

I mention my confusion, and we talk about adoption and kids until Edward stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his bleary eyes. He looks like he didn't get much sleep last night, even though he went to bed around the same time I did. I smile at the way his hair sticks out all over the place.

He perks up once he notices what's going on outside. His breakfast is eaten in record time, and then he's dragging me back upstairs to get dressed for the weather. Neither of us have actual snow clothes, but we're prepared to be cold and wet for the sake of the first snowfall.

There's a decent slope in one corner of the backyard, and we're able to slide down the hill on a plastic trash can lid. Ramps made of snow and moguls are added to our course. I'm sure that if I wasn't so numb from the cold, I'd be sore considering some of the impressive wipeouts I have. When I'm tired of collecting bruises, we move on to snowman-building in the front yard. We make a rather lumpy one that's complete with a carrot nose and branches for arms. Through it all, there's lots of laughing and almost as much flirting. We even sneak in a few heated kisses when we think there's no chance of being spotted.

Carlisle and Jasper each stop by once to grab some lunch and get a refill of coffee. Carlisle is impressed by the two huge snow forts we're constructing but has us take a break to shovel the sidewalk. Edward goes above and beyond, clearing the snow off the community sidewalk from the Cullen house to the McCarty's and making paths to the nearby neighbors' doors as well. Meanwhile, Cynthia hands me a heavily bundled and utterly delighted Mary Alice who has fun kicking snow off the piles and back into the areas Edward is shoveling.

It's snowing harder than ever by the time we go back inside. Edward and I are pretty much frozen solid. I'm surprised to discover we were out there for almost five hours. Esme serves us grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, which helps warm us up.

I've just finished my late lunch when the lights flicker off and then back on.

"Damn," Cynthia mutters under her breath. "I guess I'd better get a fire started."

"But the power's still on," I point out.

She makes grumbling noises while rummaging around in a drawer. She pulls out a flashlight and a pack of matches.

"It's gonna go out," she says. "Almost every time we get flickering, the power goes not long after."

Not even five minutes later, her prediction comes true.

She puts us to work right away packing all the frozen food into coolers that she's going to bury in the eight inches of snow already on the ground. Apparently, the power company isn't the fastest when it comes to making repairs in this area.

At one point, I try giving Mama a call on the TracFone she got a few weeks ago. She doesn't answer, but I'm not surprised. It's about a fifty-fifty chance that her battery will be dead at any given time. Cynthia texts Jasper to stop by my house and check on Mama when he gets a chance.

At first, not having power isn't such a big deal. There's enough light in the late afternoon that we can see just fine. Edward and I read books while Esme takes a nap with Mary Alice. Cynthia has the weird urge to clean all the glass in the house. For dinner, we cook (and burn) hot dogs in the fireplace and laugh as Mary Alice tastes her first s'more. It's sort of impressive how she manages to get chocolate and melted marshmallow all over her face.

Without electricity, the temperature in the house drops as the hours pass. Edward helps bring down sleeping bags and blankets to the family room so we can sleep in front of the fireplace. I casually line up my pillow beside his. Esme doesn't seem to notice, and Cynthia just rolls her eyes and smiles. After all, it's not like we're going to do anything while two adults are only a few feet away.

When I ask about the rest of the family, Cynthia tells me that Jasper and Carlisle will work throughout the night to clear roads, taking turns getting a few hours of sleep at Carlisle's so they don't disturb us. The McCartys had spent the day at Emmett's parents' house in a neighboring town. Since the power hadn't gone out there, they would stay there overnight.

The snow changes over to sleet around eight-thirty. There's at least a foot of snow on the ground now, and a layer of ice is going to make road conditions much worse. Cynthia goes outside to run her SUV for a little while so she can charge her phone battery.

"I can't stand the thought of not being able to contact Jasper," she mutters when she rushes back inside, stomping snow off her boots. "I'm having second thoughts about getting a landline. Or maybe a generator for the house. We have enough outages that it might be worth it."

I'm listening to her speak but not paying much attention. All those hours playing in the snow have caught up with me, and I'm crashing hard. The crackling of the fireplace is the perfect lullaby, and though my nose is chilly, I'm toasty warm under the two thick blankets that Edward just happens to be sharing with me. We're both on our backs, our hands clasped together, my leg slung over his. I hear him whisper "goodnight" to me just before slipping into a deep sleep.

I'm right in the middle of a strange dream about flying zombies playing trumpets when one of my shoulders starts vibrating. I try to ignore it and stay in my happy cocoon of sleep, but the shaking gets stronger.

"Bella, honey, wake up. I need you to wake up."

The voice is Cynthia's. I blink several times and try to focus on her face in the dim light of the dying fire. It takes me a moment to realize that the shiny lines down her cheeks were made by tears.

"What's going on?" I rasp, struggling to untangle myself from the blankets.

Her face crumples in pain as she tries to choke back her sobs.

"I need to talk to you. Something's happened."

* * *

 **Sorry it's been a while. I'm busier now that the kiddos are back in school, but life is starting to settle into a routine. I'm hoping that means I'll be able to write more!**

 **Happy 10th Twi-anniversary, everyone! Love you all!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

* * *

 _"What's going on?" I rasp, struggling to untangle myself from the blankets._

 _Her face crumples in pain as she tries to choke back her sobs._

 _"I need to talk to you. Something's happened."_

* * *

I scramble into a sitting position, completely alert now.

"What? What happened?"

"Shh, I don't want to wake everyone else up. Let's go into the kitchen."

I glance around the living room. Right next to me, Edward is curled up in a ball on his side and sleeping soundly. With just a faint glow from the dying fire, I can barely see Esme over on the couch, but she also seems to be out of it. Mary Alice makes soft whuffling sounds in her portable crib.

I hurry out of the room on my tiptoes behind Cynthia. By the time we reach the kitchen, my whole body is shivering from both the cold and the anxious fear coursing through my veins.

She doesn't waste any time getting to the point.

"There was a bad accident. Jasper's in the hospital."

"Oh my God," I gasp. "Is he okay?"

Cynthia closes her eyes and scrubs a hand across her face. "I don't know," she murmurs hoarsely. "He just went into surgery for a compound fracture in his leg and some other injuries. Carlisle got to the hospital not too long ago and hasn't been able to find out much."

"How did it happen?"

"The police said an SUV lost control and crashed into Jas's truck. He got pushed off the road, and the truck rolled down an embankment." Cynthia lets out a shaky breath and stands up straighter. "I'm going over to the hospital now. Rose and Emmett are on their way back from his parents'. I'm not sure how long it'll take them to get here with the roads being so bad—maybe two or three hours. Emmett will drop Rose off at the hospital and then come here until things settle down."

I nod and tuck my hands under my armpits to warm them up. Cynthia brow furrows in concern as if she's just now realizing how cold the kitchen is.

"Crap, the fire's almost out, isn't it. Can you take care of that for me? There should be a few logs by the fireplace you can use, but you'll need to get some more from the woodpile after that. You should be okay on food for breakfast. How's the battery on your phone?"

"It's low," I admit. "I'm not sure about Edward's."

She frowns. "Well, do your best to conserve the charge until Emmett gets here. I'll keep you updated with texts, but don't worry about responding unless there's a problem." She looks at me like she's thinking hard about something and then shakes her head. "I need to get going. Try to stay warm…and keep the doors locked, okay?"

My fear comes back, but for a different reason this time. Cynthia stares for a second longer before giving me a hug.

"I hope everything goes okay with Jasper," I tell her.

"Me, too. Talk to you soon, kiddo."

She grabs a packed overnight bag sitting by the door to the garage and hurries outside. I stand frozen in place until I hear the sound of the Tahoe leaving and the garage door closing again.

The living room is warmer than the kitchen, but not by much. I poke the fire and add the rest of the logs. Some ripped up pieces of cardboard help get the flames going again.

Since I've used up all the wood, I should get some more from the pile, but I'm sleepy and have no desire to face the cold and snow. The empty pillow beside Edward is looking pretty good right now. I figure the fire should be okay long enough for me to grab a nap.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, I creep back to my spot on the floor and dive under the blankets. Edward makes a low groaning noise and blinks sleepy eyes at me.

"You let all the cold air in," he grumbles, pulling me into his body. "Ugh, you're cold, too. Where'd you go?"

"Bathroom. And I built the fire back up."

I hesitate while debating if I should to tell him what happened to Jasper now or wait until later. Somehow, he picks up on my anxiety. His arms give me a little squeeze.

"Are you okay?"

"Uh, well…not really."

My throat tightens, and I have to take a deep breath before I can explain what happened to Jasper. Edward is just as upset by the news as I am.

"Aw man, poor Jasper. Same goes for Cee. I'll bet she's freaking out, huh?"

"I could tell she'd been crying, but she kept it together in front of me. At least she'll be with Carlisle soon. He's good about staying calm when everything's crazy."

"Yeah, he is," Edward agrees, somewhat grudgingly. "You know, that actually that made it harder to live with him, at first. I was so used to how my dad acted—all strict and angry and looking for a reason to punish us—that I didn't know how to relax around Carlisle. It made me nervous that the guy was so quiet because my dad was more unpredictable and scary when he was like that. He'd quote the Bible to us in a creepy voice, and right in the middle of talking—BAM!—he'd hit Mom or throw me into a table or whatever." Edward scoffs, but the sound is sad. "I swear, sometimes not knowing when he was gonna explode was worse than what he actually did."

I pull his arms closer around me in a sort of reverse-hug gesture. He sighs heavily, his breath blowing into my hair.

"I wish we didn't have to leave tomorrow," he murmurs. "I really miss you over there."

"Me, too. This whole thing with your dad just… _sucks_. It's almost like what you said: the not knowing is the worst part. How long will we have to keep looking over our shoulders?"

"Right? It's probably part of his sick plan. He'll lay low for the next decade, just playing around with our heads every few months until we go crazy."

"Yeah, but _why?"_ My hands squeeze into fists, and I want to scream from all the frustration I feel. "I know he's nuts, but isn't he breaking, like, a hundred Christian rules or something? I thought you were supposed be forgiving and kind to others and help people instead of—oh, let's see—trying to _kill_ them!"

"Shh, I know, I know," Edward says in a soothing voice. "It's definitely messed up. _He's_ messed up."

Edward sounds like he's trying to talk me off a ledge; I guess I was getting a little hysterical. I concentrate on the steady rhythm of his breathing until my own slows down. His warm, enveloping presence helps, too.

"I grew up not knowing much about the world except for what he and the church told me," Edwards says quietly. "When you shared books with me, I learned that some things in life aren't always as black and white as I'd thought. But my eyes were opened the most when I started helping in the church's publishing offices.

"In between their complaining about the wicked ways of the world and gossiping about other church members, Dad and his 'Inner Circle' had some interesting debates while they were there. They'd talk about the principles of Christianity and the different interpretations of God's Word. Their discussions could get really heated.

"Brother James and my dad got fired up the most. Most of the time, they agreed with each other, but when they got to arguing, it was _intense_. Even though they never touched one another, well…you know the expression 'if looks could kill.' It was like that."

"But they got along well enough otherwise?" I ask, my brain racing to take in everything Edward's telling me. "Like, do you think James could be helping your dad?"

"It's definitely possible. But I wouldn't rule out the other two. Brother Peter seemed really unstable to me. He liked stirring the pot and would go from being calm to yelling at everyone in a matter of seconds. Brother Andrew was the quietest and most friendly of the four. He didn't like confrontation and hardly ever disagreed with anyone."

"He sounds decent enough," I comment.

"Yeah, but the thing with Brother Andrew is that he was a pushover and a suck-up. He acted like the others were doing him a favor by including him in their group. I can see him jumping at the chance to help out my dad."

As if a single accomplice wasn't bad enough, there's the possibility that two—or even all of them—are working together. I let out a soft but fearful cry of anger. "I still don't get it! What about 'thou shalt not kill'?"

Edward pauses before speaking. "I thought they were just talking about war and militaries when the topic of, um, slaying others came up in their discussions. My dad or James usually started it, saying something about how the commandment 'thou shalt not kill' hadn't been translated right in the King James Version of the Bible. They said that the true commandment should be 'thou shalt not murder'—where murder means 'killing without righteous cause.' They'd bring up examples of when God caused or commanded the death of non-believers.

"Brother Peter usually argued back with 'love your enemies, bless them that curse you' or other New Testament scriptures like that. He'd say that Jesus told his disciples to be peaceful, no matter what. But I'm not sure if Brother Peter actually believed in turning to the other cheek, or if he was looking for a good debate, or if he was just trying to start a fight. He was all over the place. I could never figure him out."

"I wish one of them would've let something slip when the cops tried to question them," I mutter dejectedly. "If only we could get a look into their houses. Damn Fourth Amendment. Fifth one, too, while I'm at it."

"The self-incrimination part?" Edward chuckles. "My dad wasn't big on letting Mom teach me about the government, except when it came to stuff like the Bill of Rights—you know, freedom of religion and all. And then, of course, I got to hear his almost-daily rants about how our government is doing the Devil's work and trying to lure us onto the path of evil."

"I'm curious…what do _you_ think about it? God and the Bible, I mean."

He makes a humming noise and then goes quiet. I wait while he figures out what to say, but when he doesn't answer for several minutes, I wonder if he fell back asleep.

"Edward?" I whisper.

"Yeah…I just...I don't know what to think. There are a lot of people at church who aren't as extreme as the Inner Circle. They're big on love and kindness and aren't judgmental. You see them and just know they're… _good_. But I don't have a clue how religion plays into that. Would they be just as good without God in their lives?"

"So you believe in God, then?"

"I think so," he answers slowly. "Though sometimes I wonder how there can be a God who's supposed to be wonderful, but then He lets all these terrible things happen, especially to little kids like Merr…the innocent ones."

"What about destiny or fate? Do you believe in that?" We've never talked so openly about his religion, and I'm practically drooling to hear his thoughts.

"Well, people are supposed to have free will, but I've also been taught that God has a plan for all of us—"

"He does."

I practically jump out of my skin at the sound of Esme's voice. Behind me, Edward scrambles into a sitting position.

"Jeez, Mom! Give me a heart attack, why don't you?"

"Sorry, dear," she says, a smile in her voice. "I wanted to let you know I was awake in case you two were having a private conversation."

"It's not really private, I don't think," I reply, glancing up at Edward for confirmation. "We were talking about religion and how it fits in with our… _situation_."

"I see. Is there anything I might be able to help with?" she asks kindly.

I push myself up to sit beside Edward. Right away, he goes work rearranging the blankets to keep me from getting cold. I look in Esme's direction and see her watching Edward with a loving expression.

I know the feeling.

The light from the restored fire casts a warm, flickering orange through the room, making the atmosphere feel intimate and safe. It gives me courage to ask Esme questions I wouldn't normally have felt comfortable asking.

"Well, a lot of it doesn't make sense to me," I begin. "Like Edward was saying, if we're supposed to have free will, how does that fit into God's plan? Does that mean the bad things that happened to your family were part of that plan?"

"Maybe. Only He knows the truth. But, I've also come to realize how much of a role _I_ played in my own persecution and that of my children. I should've recognized that John…that _Ed_ wasn't a true child of God. He twisted the meanings of the Scriptures to fit his own distorted purposes, and though I often felt his actions were wrong, I wasn't strong enough in faith to stand by my convictions."

"Oh! I wasn't trying to say that any of it was your fault," I gasp, feeling mortified. "You were a victim, just like Edward and Merr! It probably would've been worse if you'd tried to fight back. He would've killed you…in fact, he almost _did._ And he's still trying!"

"I know what you meant, Bella," Esme says, sounding very much at peace. "And it's okay. I've repented my sins and asked for His merciful forgiveness. If I ever face Ed again, I won't let him lead me astray or bend my will like he did before."

I want to keep arguing about how it's Mr. Masen's fault and not hers, but I have the feeling nothing I could say would matter. It's not that I can't see her point—in fact, I used to blame her for the exact same things when I'd see evidence of Edward's injuries—but I've since gotten firsthand experience of just how deadly that man can be. It almost makes me mad that she's reducing his responsibility by taking it on herself, even if it's only by a little.

Because of my irritation, the next words that come out of my mouth are unfiltered.

"If he's so bad, how can you stay married to him? I mean, what about Carlisle? He loves you so much, but you'd rather be loyal to a cold-hearted bastard—"

"Bella!" Edward exclaims in a low, harsh voice. "What do you think you're doing talking to my mom like that? It's none of your business!"

My brain catches up to my mouth, and I feel terrible all over again. My chin drops in regret. There's only one thing to say now.

"I-I'm really sorry, Esme."

"It's okay, sweetheart. I understand how you feel." She sighs, sounding more defeated than I've heard her in a long time. "But the Bible is clear on the issue of divorce. Except for adultery or death, 'what God has joined together, let not man separate.'"

"I vote for his death," I mutter under my breath.

"Carlisle is a wonderful man. I do love him, but…only in fellowship. _Only_ in fellowship."

She repeats the phrase slowly, like if she keeps telling herself that, it might become true. But I know it doesn't matter either way. Despite what her heart might feel, she'll never betray her beliefs. I guess I can respect that, even though I hate it.

We're all lost in our thoughts for a few moments until Esme breaks the silence.

"Where's Cynthia? Have you seen her since you've been awake?"

Caught up in our discussion, I'd completely forgotten about Jasper's accident. Edward and I exchange glances as if we're silently drawing straws to see who will have to explain. I decide I should be the one since Cynthia told me directly.

A buzzing noise catches my attention before I start to speak.

My phone.

I lunge to pick it up from the coffee table and silently read through the long text.

Relief floods my body.

"Jasper's still in surgery," I say. "The good news is that, although he lost a lot of blood, he should make a full recovery."

Esme gasps at my announcement, and I fill her in on what had happened. She bows her head and begins to whisper a fervent prayer. Edward quickly closes his eyes and lowers his head, too. Feeling self-conscious, I stare at the floor, my fingers twisting my lap.

"By the way, Rose and Emmett are on their way to the hospital," I say when Esme and Edward have finished praying. "They should be there in about an hour. Emmett's going to drop Rose off and then come here."

"What time is it now, dear?"

"Just after four."

"Hmm, still a little while before dawn." She leans over the portable crib beside the couch and pulls Mary Alice's blankets farther up her small body. "It's a good thing she's a heavy sleeper. She probably won't wake for another two hours or so."

Letting out a yawn, I raise my arms above my head. "We should get our own sleep then. That little girl's a bouncy ball of energy in the morning, and I'm… _not_."

The little sliver of skin I expose while stretching is apparently too much temptation for Edward to resist. He reaches out a sneaky hand and tickles the side of my waist.

My reaction is instant. I double over to protect myself from further attack while making a rather high-pitched squeak.

"Shh!" he says with a quiet chuckle. "You're gonna wake Merr."

"Hmph. You just wait until she _does_ wake up," I grumble. "I'll get you back and then some."

"Good luck with that." He flashes me a charming smile. "Tell you what. How 'bout I do something to make it up to you, and we'll call it even. Maybe breakfast in bed later?"

"That sounds kinda nice, though it'll be more like Frosted Flakes on the floor." My eyes widen as I'm struck with sudden inspiration. "Or…you could get some more wood for the fire…"

"From outside?" He glances over at the empty log rack and scowls. "Oh, great. When are we going to need it?"

"Uh, well...it wouldn't be a bad idea to put another one on now. Otherwise, the fire will probably die out before the sun comes up."

I give him my best set of sad eyes and pout out my lower lip a little. I'm not beneath acting pathetic to avoid going out in the cold and the snow.

But Edward stares at me without a single shred of sympathy in his expression. "I barely touched you. I don't see how the cruel and unusual punishment of freezing my rear end off in the middle of the night fits my crime—if you can even call it that," he says, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Darn.

I'll have to switch tactics.

I huff out a long, heavy sigh. "Fine, I'll go. Unlike _some_ people I know, _I_ actually care about the comfort of others in the room."

I lift the corner of the blanket to throw it off, but Edward rolls his eyes and covers me back up.

"Oh, please. You can stop playing the martyr now; I'm going. I can carry more than you, anyway."

He sounds grumpy, but the corners of his lips are turned up in a grin. I grab his shirt to pull him in for a quick kiss.

"Yes, yes, you're my big, strong hero. Now go get the firewood. I'll keep the blankets warm for you."

"Gee, thanks."

Edward walks to the hallway closet and pulls out his jacket. Relaxing back into my pillow, I watch him put on a hat, gloves, and boots. The crackling of the fire is very soothing, and I find myself struggling to keep my eyes open. Soon, he's just a blurry bundled figure heading toward the backyard by way of the kitchen French doors.

I float around in that fog of half-consciousness for a while, hoping to stay awake long enough for Edward to get back so I can steal a few full-body cuddles. There's a depressingly good chance it'll be my last opportunity until Christmas.

I have no how long I lie there drifting. At some point, my phone buzzes near my feet—a strange place for it to be. I must have set it down in the pile of blankets after I'd read Cynthia's text.

I'm digging around under the covers when I hear a thumping sound against the side of the house. I don't pay much attention at first, but then it happens two more times. Edward must have accidentally locked himself out and now wants me to open the door. Groaning, I roll onto my stomach and wait to see if he knocks again.

But what I hear next isn't the same, odd thumping sound.

What I hear is a muffled yell.

An angry, yet scared yell.

 _Edward's_ yell.

Then I hear more thumps.

I'm on my feet right away, kicking blankets out of my path as I take off at a run toward the kitchen.

"Bella, wait!"

Esme's words are like a distant echo of someone else's conversation. I barely register them. There's only one thing I care about, and that's getting to Edward as fast as I can.

But when I throw open one of the French doors and discover the scene in the backyard, I realize I've made a big mistake. It was stupid of me to have rushed outside without considering the possible danger.

Without considering how useless I would be in the face of such danger.

Without considering that I might make the situation so much worse.

And now, it's so much worse.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading! Love you all!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

* * *

The cloudy night sky is a deep gray, but the white of the snow provides a sharp contrast to the objects in the backyard. I can see just fine.

I almost wish I couldn't.

Pieces of firewood lie scattered near the door, some half-hidden in trampled snow. One of the heavier-looking logs is impaled by some sort of long knife or short sword with a thick, curved blade about a foot long. A dark substance coats the inside edge. I'm pretty sure I know what that substance is.

But I don't know _whose_ it is.

That's a crucial detail.

It could belong to the man writhing against the side of the house. There's certainly a good chance it's his. My eyes follow the path of the thick liquid that gushes out from between his fingers. He clutches the side of his neck, desperately trying to stop a relentless flow that creates wisps of steam as it comes into contact with the frigid air. His mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish. He might be trying to say something, but all he can make are choked gurgling noises.

Taking a step back into the doorway, I stare in horror at the grotesque sight. Something rises up in my throat—I'm not sure if it's vomit or a scream.

"Don't you dare make a sound!"

My head jerks in the direction of the snarled words. It says a lot about the depth of my shock at seeing a dying man that I've barely noticed the other two figures near me. My hands fly to my mouth, muffling a cry of terror, when I take in the full scene.

Edward stands as still as possible, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. His gray jacket is ripped in several places and covered with dark wet patches—melted snow stained with blood, probably. I can see a small cut on his jaw, but I'm much more worried about what lies a few inches beneath that.

The flat side of a curved blade, almost identical to the one embedded in the log, is pressed against his neck. I can't tell if any of the blood on his jacket belongs to Edward. It might be cast-off from the dying person. Or maybe it came from the disfigured man standing behind directly behind Edward.

The man holding the hilt of the sword.

Mr. Masen.

I gape at Edward's father, my arms falling down to my sides. I've had nightmares about him coming after us, about seeing him again, but this reality is so much worse.

He looks like someone off a horror movie set. His once-strong frame is now wrenched to the left, and the leg on that side splays out at an odd angle. Although he's wearing gloves, I can tell he's got unhealed damage to his right hand: his grip on the sword is unnatural, with his ring finger remaining unbent.

And then there's his face…

One half is twisted in hateful rage. The other half hangs slack and dead, his eyelid drooping, the loose skin of his jowls pulled down by its own weight. His hair is buzzed closed to the scalp, and there's a shallow, but conspicuous, indentation in his skull a few inches above his right ear.

Mr. Masen's wild gaze darts back and forth between me and the injured man, who is now slumped against the house, silent and unmoving. His bloodied hands have fallen away from his neck, and I can see the lethal gash yawning wide like a small, open mouth.

"Look what you've done, Boy! You've killed a beloved child of our Lord!"

Mr. Masen is hard to understand, the useless half of his lips muddying his words. When Edward doesn't move right away, his father grabs a handful of hair and turns Edward's head with a sharp yank.

"You've committed a great sin, but Brother James will be in Heaven soon. If you died right now, where would _you_ go?"

The blade at Edward's neck slowly rotates, its sharp side beginning to dig into skin. Edward swallows and closes his eyes.

Although I'm only a handful of steps away from them, I might as well be in the next yard over. There's nothing I can do except try keep quiet like I was told and hope for the best. For a long, excruciating moment, my entire world hangs in the balance.

"No! Please, John, _no!_ "

I spin around to see Esme running through the kitchen. Her arms are outstretched as if to grab her son and pull him away. My heart sinks when I notice that her hands are empty. It doesn't look like she'd been able to find my phone or Edward's to call for help.

"Rebecca! It's good to see you again after so long," Mr. Masen says, sounding smug. "I'm glad you didn't make me search you out tonight. I would've been angry about that. But…where's Mary?"

"She's…she's with Mrs. Cullen."

Esme slows to a stop beside me, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looks so small and frail in her sleeping clothes. I reach my arm out to steady her but quickly withdraw it when Mr. Masen makes a low growling noise.

"Look at you, still trying to keep them under your influence," he spits at me. "But Satan's reign over my family is finished; we've come to collect them and bring them back into the fold."

He glances at James's motionless body and frowns. It's obvious that he wasn't expecting to continue without help. His anger flares, and his grip on the sword tightens. Edward gasps as the blade presses deeper into his neck.

"How could you let my child go with one of _them_?" Mr. Masen says angrily, glaring at Esme. "She should have been with you! All that planning and waiting…" He shakes his head in disgust. "It can't be helped now. You deserve punishment, but it will have to wait. Too much time has already been wasted tonight with the loss of Brother James."

Esme's eyes widen as they leave Edward's face to scan the backyard for the first time. She lets out a terrified cry when discovering James's body lying in a pool of his own blood.

"Be quiet!" Mr. Masen hisses at her. "I won't allow you to betray me again. Act your place, or I _will_ send your soul to Hell."

He closes his right eye and begins to mutter to himself. The eye on the paralyzed side of his face rolls up so that only white can be seen through the slit between his eyelids.

"'For he is the minister of God to thee for good; but if thou do that which is evil, be afraid, for he beareth not the sword in vain; for he is the minister of God, an avenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.'"

There is complete silence for several seconds, even though his lips are still moving. My heart thunders in my chest as if it knows its time is limited and is trying to make the most of it. But when Mr. Masen suddenly focuses a burning glare on me, I'm pretty sure it skips a beat or two.

"I yearn to rid the world of _your_ wicked presence, but it seems you've been granted a reprieve. Your judgment will come, but not today. I have something more important to do than striking you down. Today, what has been divided by sin will be made whole." He flicks his wrist to the open gate of the backyard fence. "Go. Leave us."

His decree given, he looks away from me as if I no longer exist.

I'm stunned by his sudden disinterest but try to kick-start my sluggish thoughts. Is there some way I can use this new development to my advantage?

"Rebecca, I'm only going to tell you this one time," Mr. Masen says sharply, narrowing his eyes at his wife. "If you disobey me, you'll regret it. You're going to help me take our son to the front of the house. Brother Andrew is coming to get us. Neither of you will give me any trouble. As I've said, this is your _last_ chance for redemption. Do you understand?"

Shaking in place beside me, Esme doesn't say anything right away. I'm not sure if she's scared, or angry, or both. I remember what she had said about not letting Mr. Masen control her anymore. But what can she possibly do when he's holding a blade to her son's throat?

"Rebecca!"

His low, distorted voice sends shivers down my spine. It seems to have a different effect on Esme, though. Her shaking stops as her shoulders slump in defeat.

"Yes, I understand."

"Good. Now, come to my left side. We'll go through the house; it'll be easier for me."

Shuffling through the snow, Esme takes her place by her husband. Her head is down, probably to avoid seeing Edward's anguished expression. Mr. Masen throws his free arm over her shoulders and pulls her against his side to support his weak leg. He begins to move forward, leaning on Esme and pushing Edward along in front of him. His affected gait causes his body to lurch from side to side, but his grip on the sword remains surprisingly steady.

I'm still standing in the doorway, right in their path, and have no idea what to do. Let them go without interference so that Esme and Edward aren't harmed or killed…for now? Somehow try to stop him and hope for the best? Run to a neighbor's house and ask for help? And what about Mary Alice?

As the group of three slowly makes their way toward the house…toward me…Edward's desperate eyes meet mine. His hand makes a twitching gesture back and forth. It's a simple message, but the meaning is clear to me.

Don't do anything to put myself in danger. Just let them go. Let Mr. Masen taken them away.

My throat tightens painfully. Dread churns in my stomach. I can't believe this is happening—that Edward and Esme are in danger again, and this time, I'm helpless. With Edward's life at stake, there's no way I can risk taking action. The only thing I can do is step aside.

Mr. Masen doesn't spare me a glance as they pass by into the house. It kills me that Edward is so close I can practically reach out and touch him. I want to go to him so much that it physically hurts to stay back.

They walk into the kitchen, leaving the back door wide open. I take a hesitant step after them, and then another. Mr. Masen is breathing pretty hard from the effort of moving his disabled body, so I doubt he hears my stocking feet on the tile. They're wet and numb from the snow outside, but I barely notice as I follow the trio into the living room.

A jolt of fear goes through me then Mr. Masen stops by the portable crib. My muscles tense up, ready to do… _something_ …until I realize Mary Alice isn't inside. Esme must have moved her into another room before coming outside. I let out the smallest sigh of relief. At least one child is safe from their insane father.

He's not happy that fact, though. The arm over Esme's shoulders slides up and tightens around her neck.

"You have so much to repent, Rebecca. So much. I hope your time doesn't run out before you are granted redemption."

I can't see Esme's face from where I stand, but when her legs start to bow, I realize he's choking her.

"Dad, please don't…"

Edward's pleading voice isn't much louder than a hoarse whisper. I'm afraid that he's going to make his dad even more upset, but Mr. Masen relaxes his arm and lets it settle back around Esme's shoulders.

"Right, right," he mumbles. "Take care of her later. We need to go."

After one last glare at the empty crib, he begins moving again. Esme stumbles along beside him and tries to keep from collapsing under his weight. Once they've crossed the living room, I hurry to the blankets we'd had been using and frantically dig for my phone. My hand closes around it just as I hear the front door open.

I look up and am surprised to see a flash of bright light in front of the house. An engine turns over and rumbles to life.

"Let's go. Brother Andrew is waiting."

A roaring wave of panic sweeps over me so quickly that I almost black out. The length of a driveway is all that separates Mr. Masen from taking them away from me. Fighting back the fog at the edge of my consciousness, I pull the phone out of the pile and stab at the screen with numb, swollen fingers. Through the buzzing in my head, the faint thought arises that any help I contact will arrive way too late, but this is the only thing I can do.

And I have to do something.

Though it's only three numbers, I somehow manage to misdial 9-1-1 on the first try. My second attempt is successful, but just as the emergency operator begins to talk, several things happen in quick succession.

As Esme returns to Mr. Masen's side to help him across the threshold of the front door, her foot catches on the raised sill, and she falls to her knees. Angered, Mr. Masen swings his boot into her ribs. Her body pitches to the side, and her head thuds into the door.

"Momma? Eh-ward? Where are you? Lie-yuhl?"

Mary Alice is coming down the stairs to the first floor, clutching her stuffed tiger and dragging a blanket behind her. I gasp and jump to my feet. Dimly, I'm aware of a tinny voice coming from my phone, but I'm not able to form any words. I can only stare in horror as Mr. Masen spins toward his daughter.

Edward is caught unprepared for the quick shift of position and tries to keep his balance by grabbing hold of Mr. Masen's arm—the one pressing a sword into his throat. Edward trips over his own feet and starts to fall, bringing Mr. Masen's arm down with him. The curved blade cuts an arc through the air and slices into Edward's leg. He cries out, his hands going to the wound as he crumples into a heap on the floor.

Mr. Masen doesn't even seem to notice. His attention is focused on Mary Alice, who is now standing at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing her sleepy eyes in confusion.

"Mary's here. She's _here_ ," he growls, then looks down at Esme. "You lied to me! You looked me in the eyes and _lied_."

His foot flies forward and catches her again, this time in the face. Blood drips from her nose and mouth.

I can't help shouting at him to stop, but my words are drowned out by a honking horn and the revving of an engine. Those sounds aren't from the Jeep now sitting in front of the house, however. They're from farther down the street…and seem to be getting louder.

Mary Alice's scared cry takes my attention away from whatever might be going on outside.

"Momma, Momma!" she calls out, tears spilling from her eyes.

I gasp when she begins to patter toward the door, toward Esme and Edward…and toward _him._ My reaction is immediate. I drop my phone and run to intercept her.

Mr. Masen must decide I'm worth acknowledging now because he lifts his sword and points it at me. I slide to a quick stop, still several feet away from Mary Alice and even farther from everyone else.

"Don't!" he snarls. "I'm not letting you interfere with my family any longer."

He glances down at Esme and Edward—both staring at him in fear despite their bleeding wounds—and then looks over his shoulder at the waiting Jeep. Indecision crosses the unfrozen half of his face, and then it's gone. Cold resolve takes its place.

"I see my true purpose now," he intones. "I'm not here to protect a spoiled son and an ungrateful wife from the evils of the world. My calling is to save little Mary from _you._ I may have failed with the rest of my family, but she will benefit from the lessons I've learned."

He lunges toward the toddler, moving his crippled body faster than I thought possible and catching us all by surprise. She screams when he snatches her up in his left arm. Her stuffed tiger falls to the floor.

Edward is up on his feet in an instant, and Esme follows on unsteady legs. Mr. Masen brandishes the sword in front of him, marking an invisible boundary as he carries Mary Alice toward the door.

"Please, John, don't take her!" Esme cries, her arm reaching out in desperation. "I'll do whatever you ask…I promise to be better!"

He ignores her as he'd previously ignored me, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the Jeep outside. Esme takes a step forward as though she wants to attack, but Edward is quicker. He lets out a ringing yell and charges his father, his body low, his leading shoulder dropped in preparation for his tackle.

Mr. Masen manages to twist to the side. He throws out his arm, blindly hoping that the sword makes contact. Edward avoids being caught by the blade, but when he jerks backward, his wounded leg gives out from under him. His boot slides along the floor on drops of his own blood, and he crashes onto his side. The sound of ripping fabric is loud in my ears as Mr. Masen slashes the sword down across Edward's chest.

And then there are more loud sounds, overlapping each other and fighting for attention.

Esme's scream. My shouted plea. Mary Alice's shrieks. The gunning of the Jeep's engine and the spinning of its tires. The crashing impact of metal on metal.

The last sound startles us all. Mr. Masen pauses and then stumbles when he sees the Jeep sliding backward from the force of the collision with an unknown vehicle.

It's all the invitation Esme needs.

She launches herself at his right arm—the one wielding the sword. I don't spare a thought for my own safety as I rush in to help her. We _have_ to get Mary Alice away from him.

I leap over Edward, who is lying very still on the floor, and close in on Mr. Masen just in time to catch Mary Alice after he flings her away. He turns all his anger on Esme and seems determined to see her submit.

"Run upstairs, Merr!" I yell, setting the girl down and giving her a pretty hard push away from us. "Go upstairs and hide!"

I don't stop to see if she follows my directions. Now that Mr. Masen has use of his left arm, he easily loosens Esme's grip on the hilt of his sword. He pulls it free and then rams the butt end into her stomach, causing her to double over in pain.

My hands grab onto his wrist, and I'm able to deflect his attempt to stab her with the curved blade. Roaring in fury, he spins on his good leg and throws us both to the ground.

"No more! This ends _now!_ "

The world seems to crash to a halt as he stands over us, sword raised, half his face distorted with hatred. It's weird how the loud noises—Mr. Masen's wheezing gasps, Mary Alice's wailing, emergency sirens, a man's desperate shouting voice—fade into the background, while the dull thud of my heart grows in volume until that's all I can hear.

I stare up into the face of the man who has made my life a living nightmare for the past three months and has done the same to his family for so much longer. There's no mercy in his features…no uncertainty or shame or remorse. His dark eyes glitter black and orange in the glow of the fire, and the only thing I can see in them is an all-consuming hate.

A vengeful, self-righteous hate.

A hate that will stop at nothing except death.

My death. Esme's. Edward's. Maybe even Mary Alice's.

His arm whips upward above me, and I know that I'll be the first. Since he blames me for so much, it makes sense. With what little power of thought I have left, I fling my body backward those precious few inches so that I can curl up into a ball beside Edward, the place I most want to be.

And so, like the last time Mr. Masen attacked me in his backyard, I close my eyes and wait for the end.

I wait for pain.

And this time, it comes.

But it's not the hot, piercing flame I was expecting. Instead, I feel the jolt of something heavy crashing onto me and knocking all the air out of my lungs. Then a hard object cracks against my skull and turns the blackness behind my eyes to a dazzling white.

My thoughts shatter into a million pieces.

"Esme, _no!_ "

I don't know whose voice that was.

Thuds, grunts, a clattering of metal.

I don't know what's happening.

"In here, hurry! _Oh God, Esme_. I need help in here! _Hang on, okay? Just…hang on for me. Oh God, no. Bella…Edward..._ You need to hurry!"

I don't know why the man sounds so worried.

My body feels like it's floating up into a starry sky and spinning end over end. The exhausting weight of reality threatens to bring me back down, and I think of how good it would feel to just let go of it all. Sleep is calling to me, luring me closer with a humming lullaby.

I want to follow it into nothingness.

And so I do.

I let it all go.

My mind draws away from the shock of the night, from the choking anxiety, from the pain of frozen extremities and aching muscles and a splintering head.

I tune out the buzzing noises of activity around me. Of angry shouts, squawking radios, thumping feet, and medical jargon.

But there is one sound I can't quite escape—one sound that haunts me even as I drift upward like a fugitive balloon.

It's an anguished, heart-rending cry that goes on and on.

It's grief in its purest form.

It's a keening expression of ultimate loss.

It's Carlisle's.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

* * *

 **The sword Ed (John) Masen is using is called a machaira/makhaira (also kopis). Makhaira is a Greek word referring to variants of a curved, single-edged sword developed during the Bronze Age and used throughout parts of Europe and the Middle East. It was a common weapon/tool during the time of Christ and was thought to be the type of knife Peter used to cut off Malchus's ear during the arrest of Jesus.**

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading! You all are THE BEST!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

* * *

"…none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's…"

The pastor speaks in a strong but comforting voice, his breath making puffs of white in the chilly air. There's not a cloud in the sky, and distant tree branches sparkle with their thick coats of ice. A few brave birds perch on top of polished headstones and chirp a defiant song.

It's a beautiful morning, but I'm not sure if the peaceful setting is more a comforting tribute or a twisted mockery of our pain.

Sniffling quietly, Rosalie bounces a sleeping Mary Alice on her shoulder. Emmett stands in unspoken support close behind them. Cynthia dabs her eyes with worn tissues balled up in one hand while the other clutches the sleeve of Carlisle's coat. The blond-haired man stares ahead with a blank expression. I don't think he's heard a single word of the service.

And Edward…

He pulls me closer as I squeeze his gloved hand. The arm of his wheelchair digs into my side, but I ignore the slight pain. It's nothing compared to what he's going through.

Tears fall freely down his cold-pinkened cheeks from eyes that are focused on a cream-white casket. His chin quivers every so often, and I know he's fighting back sobs of grief. The deep shadows under his eyes make him look like an adult instead of a young teenager.

A chorus of murmured _Amen_ s marks the end of the pastor's remarks. Everyone begins to file past the casket, saying goodbye for the last time. I push Edward's chair over the packed snow to the very end of the line. We move slowly forward until only Carlisle stands in front of us.

He runs a hand over the closed lid for just a moment and then takes a rigid step back. Thinking he's about to leave, I grip the wheelchair handles and get ready to push. But then Carlisle's legs buckle underneath him like they just can't hold his weight any more. It's a strange sight: his fingers curl into a tight ball as he falls to his knees, yet his face is still slack and expressionless.

Though it's always been obvious he cared a lot about Esme, I had no idea just how deep his feelings apparently ran. The two knew each other for only a few short months, and even then, her marriage to Mr. Masen stood in the way. So how can he possibly look as if his world has been destroyed—as if his life has been altered forever—when she barely played a part in it?

I didn't understand his thoughts and motivations when he first began helping us, and I'm no closer to figuring it out now.

Rosalie has seen her brother's distress and hands Mary Alice to Emmett. After she kneels and speaks in his ear, Carlisle struggles to his feet. Arm firmly around his waist in support, Rosalie leads him away from the burial site.

Edward's eyes are now closed, and they stay that way as I push him close enough to the casket to touch it if he wants.

"I'll give you few minutes alone," I say quietly, turning to leave.

"Could you stay?"

I almost miss the whispered words and look at him closely to make sure I didn't misunderstand. Though his head remains bowed, he lays his hand, palm up, on the armrest. When I place mine on top of his, he laces our fingers together.

I close my own eyes and drop my chin. Other than sounds of chirping birds and slowly melting ice falling from the trees, it is very quiet. Peaceful, almost. I feel as if Esme would be able to hear my thoughts if only I tried hard enough. There's so much I want to tell her.

 _Hi, Esme. It's me, Bella. I've come to say goodbye. I don't know what happens when a person dies, but if there really is a Heaven, I'm sure that's where you are. I wish I'd spent more time with you when I had the chance, but I saw enough to know you were a good person. You really cared about your kids and did your best for them._

 _They miss you so much, especially Edward. He's taking this hard, and with everything else going on, I'm worried about how he's going to make it through. For some reason, you've always trusted me when it comes to him, but I just don't know have any idea how to help._

 _I'll try my best, though—for him and for you. It's the least I can do after you gave so much for us…after you gave_ everything _for us. I can't say thank you enough times, but I want you to know I'll never forget how you saved my life. I want to make as much of it as I can; I want to show the world how much your sacrifice means to me._

 _Rest in peace, Esme. We love you._

 _-o-o-o-o-o-o-_

I can't believe they're still here.

I can't believe they're hugging Edward.

I can't believe he's letting them.

Even if he hadn't volunteered information about the twenty-odd people, I'd have guessed they were from his family's church based on the women's style of clothing. They all wear simple, mid-calf dresses and wool coats without any makeup or jewelry. Their hair is either wrapped in a tidy bun or hangs down to their waists.

There are streaks of wetness on all the women's faces and a good number of the men's.

Rose keeps sending suspicious glances their way, but Cynthia is talking to a small group. She'd headed straight over to them with welcoming arms when they approached the burial site. After the short service, she invited them inside the funeral home to warm up from the cold with tea and coffee.

Cynthia seemed to have known they were coming, but I was surprised when I first saw them. Surprised and a little bit angry. Maybe it's not _their_ fault specifically, but I can't help feeling resentment against the church. I keep thinking that if the Masens hadn't been involved with it, Carlisle wouldn't be a shell of a person right now, Edward wouldn't be a physical and emotional mess, and Esme wouldn't be dead.

I keep a little space between us as they fuss over Edward in his wheelchair. I won't go too far away from him, but there's no way I can stand next to them. I just can't.

Edward, for his part, doesn't seem bothered by their presence. I suppose some of them have known him all his life, and he's mentioned before that most of the people in the church have more reasonable beliefs than his father did. Of course, that wouldn't be a hard thing to accomplish.

At least we'll be safe from that man for a very long time. He's being held without bail in a prison medical ward somewhere; apparently, Carlisle beat the crap out of him. He'd had a bad feeling about Jasper's "accident" and decided to check on us even though Rosalie and Emmett hadn't gotten to the hospital yet. When he saw an SUV idling in front of the house with a bashed-in left front end, he acted on instinct as he gunned the truck's engine to slam into the Jeep. The vehicle's driver took off running, but Carlisle's only concern was getting to us. He arrived just in time to see Esme fall.

The police had already been on their way due to my traced 9-1-1 call. They showed up soon after Carlisle had "neutralized" Mr. Masen. I'm not sure what the exact injuries were, but I get the feeling it'll be a while before he'll be able to stand up on his own again.

Good.

He deserves every bit of what he got, and so much more. I'm split fifty-fifty between wishing he'd died and being glad that he'll be stuck in jail for the rest of his life, as he is certain to be. It might be wrong of me, but I smile every time I think about him being locked up by the "evil" government he hates so much.

The main problem with him going to prison is that he'll need to be convicted first. It'll probably be a long and painful process, as I've been learning firsthand through my experience with Greg. There's such a backlog of cases in the system that Mama's been told not to expect a trial date for several more months. Based on the large number of charges against Mr. Masen, it will probably take much longer than that before we can get some closure and truly start moving past the trauma of a week ago.

I think surviving today's funeral marks the first step of that difficult journey.

"How's he holding up?"

I'd been so lost in my head that I didn't notice Rosalie coming up to me.

"I think he's hanging in there," I murmur, glancing at Edward's profile. "The pain's probably gonna catch up with him soon, though. I'll make sure he takes some Percocet when we get home."

"Good. I'm going to wrap this up in a few minutes, anyway. Carlisle's about to lose it, and I'm sure he'd rather not have an audience." Her eyes scan over the small groupings of people from the Masens' church. "Besides, I haven't seen Jas today. I want to have some time with him before dinner."

"Cee told me that his graft looked good enough for him to be discharged tomorrow."

Rosalie gives me a smile, one that's both relieved and weary. "Yeah, that's what I hear. It'll be good to have everyone home again…"

Her voice trails away as she glances out the window to the burial site. I blink to fight back yet another stinging rush of wetness to my eyes. I know what she's thinking.

Not everyone is coming home.

After squeezing my hand in support, Rosalie walks away to start nudging visitors toward the exit. I return to Edward's side and wait for two women to finish up their conversation with him.

"…church van will come pick you up if you ever need a ride," one of them is saying. "Call the office anytime. We would love to see you and little Mary again."

"Hannah has been asking about you, too," the other lady remarks. "She misses singing with you in junior choir. Our services haven't been the same without your beautiful duets."

My brow furrows when the corners of Edward's lips turn up in a faint smile. Who is this Hannah person? And how come I never knew he'd been a choir, apparently singing "beautiful duets" with someone?

The women give him careful hugs around the shoulders as they say goodbye. I guess someone told them about the 22 sutures keeping his chest wound closed. The second woman says something in Edward's ear before she lets him go. He nods and then looks away from her like he's embarrassed. My frown morphs into a scowl.

"What was that about?" I ask when they finally leave.

"Huh?" Edward jumps a little in his wheelchair, like he'd forgotten I was there or something.

"Can we do a duet sometime, or do you only sing with _Hannah_?"

He stares at me in confusion for a few moments. "You sing?"

"Well…not _really_ …I mean, I do in the shower sometimes, but that's not the—" I huff out an aggravated breath. "Never mind. It's time to go."

He looks like he's going to say something until I mention that we're leaving the funeral home. Indescribable pain flashes across his face as his shoulders sag. I want to kick myself for getting jealous at a time like this.

I wish I could jump onto his lap and squeeze him with all my strength, but all I can do is take one of his hands and hug it close to my cheek.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, my throat thick with emotion. "If you want more time, I can ask if—"

"No. Let's just go." His fingers brush along my jaw as he slips his hand out of my grasp.

Emmett is checking out with the funeral staff, and Rosalie's making sure Carlisle puts on his coat before going outside. I grab the heavy blanket in the wheelchair's tote and settle it over Edward's hunched frame so that he stays warm on the trip to the parking lot. His injured leg, held horizontal by the chair's elevated leg lift, is already covered, but I check to make sure the blanket is secure.

Edward doesn't say anything on the ride back to the McCarty's, where we've both been staying. Cynthia is taking care of Mary Alice at her house, but neither Edward nor I have been back there yet. I'm sure there will come a point when I'll need to face my fears and return to the place where Esme died beside me, my clothes soaked in her blood, but I don't see it happening any time soon.

Since the attack, I haven't been able to sleep unless Edward's with me. Mama came to stay at the McCarty's for the first two nights until Edward got out of the hospital, but even then, I didn't rest well with all the nightmares I had. Now I'm sleeping on a cot next to him, in the McCarty's study that was converted into a makeshift bedroom, until he's able to climb stairs again on his own. One of his quadriceps muscles—the vastus medialis—was sliced almost all the way through by his dad's sword thing. Apparently, the wound wasn't too complicated to repair as far as those things go, but he'll need a few months to fully recover.

Rosalie isn't completely onboard with me and him being together at night, but I think she understands there's nothing romantic about this particular situation. Whether it's a good or bad thing, Edward's been the most consistent person in my entire life. After all we've been through in the past few months, I don't just want him near me…I _need_ him.

And with the loss of his mama, I think he needs me, too.

I expected him to go numb and escape from reality, but the emptiness hasn't taken over his expression—at least not yet. True, he's been on a pretty decent dose of painkillers, but I haven't seen signs of him pulling away. In fact, there are times he seems overwhelmed with emotion. I worry he's going to have some sort of mental breakdown.

Carlisle's the one with the dead eyes now. I can tell his family's worried about him. He's staying with Cynthia and Jasper because no one trusts him to take care of himself without prompting. And even with four adults breathing down his neck to eat and sleep, he still looks like a wasted shadow of his former self.

Emmett and Rose are going over to the apartment next weekend to pack up everything and bring it back to his house. Although Brother Andrew—real name, Nathan Murray—hasn't been found yet, Carlisle needs the support of his family. He's so bad off that Cynthia and Jasper didn't bother discussing with him their appeal for legal guardianship of Edward and Mary Alice; they just informed him after it had been granted. They knew that no judge would appoint him in his current state.

It wasn't as easy a process as they'd told him, either. The judge was hesitant to approve the Cullens since Edward and Mary Alice had three relatives living in the States: Mr. Masen's father, his sister, and Esme's sister. However, William Masen was elderly and disabled, and Deborah Masen had been convicted of several misdemeanors. Esme's sister, Elizabeth, was a better prospect but had never met her nephew and niece.

Leah Clearwater, my DHS caseworker, turned out to be the hero of the day. She requested to take on Edward and Mary Alice's case herself and made a strong recommendation to the judge for approval of the appeal. Though she can be prickly at times, I've always appreciated how concerned she seemed to be about my welfare. It was amazing of her to go the extra mile and help us during this difficult time. Heck, she even gave Cynthia a care package of homemade cookies for the family.

Edward hasn't taken the news about the guardianship well, but I don't think his reaction is because of whom his guardians are. He's more upset about the fact that he needs them at all. The appointment is another unwanted reminder that his mother isn't with us anymore and his father is the one who took her away.

When we get back from the funeral home, the family breaks up into small groups. Cynthia goes to her house with Carlisle and Mary Alice. Rosalie heads upstairs to change clothes and prepare for a visit to the hospital. Before joining her, Emmett helps Edward from the car and into his bed.

Edward's exhausted, both physically and mentally. He's developed a high pain tolerance over the years, but I can tell he's hurting now. I give him his pills and then sit down on the bed beside him.

"Do you want anything else?" I ask, worried about his tense expression. "Some food, maybe? I could see what's on TV or put on a movie…or some music…?"

"No, I'm fine. I'll probably pass out soon, anyway." He squeezes his eyes shut and throws an arm over his face.

Frowning, I put a hand on his uninjured leg. I wish there was something I could do for him, that there was some way I could make this easier, even by a little.

"Do you want me to go? I get it if you want some alone time right now…"

"You can stay…if you want…" He moves his head under his arm. His voice is muffled. "I always want you to stay."

My heart jumps a little in my chest as I climb onto my cot beside his bed and stretch out over the air mattress. Though the lights are off and the shades are drawn, the sun reflecting off the icy snow outside still manages to brighten the room. I close my eyes and listen to Edward's unsteady breathing. It sounds like he trying hard not to cry.

After several long, torturous minutes, I can't keep quiet anymore.

"Are you okay? I mean, crap, I know you're not _okay_ , but do you wanna maybe talk about it?"

He doesn't answer, and I wonder if I should've kept my mouth shut. He's got enough going on without me asking him to spill his guts right after his mama's funeral. If I can barely make sense of my own feelings, how can he be expected to?

But then he surprises me.

"I don't get it," he says, his words not much louder than a whisper. "Why did all this happen? Am I being punished? Was this my fault?"

"No!" I exclaim, flipping onto my side and gaping at him. "There's no way…it _can't_ be your fault." My mind races through the little I know about his religion. "Um...didn't you tell me how bad stuff happened sometimes to good people in the Bible? Like when Joseph was sold into slavery, and, uh…what about Jesus? Look what he went through!"

"But I'm _not_ good! Not even close." Edward presses the heels of both palms against his eyes. "I sinned so much—stole from my dad, lied, talked back…I even _beat_ him. His face, Bella…did you _see_ what I did to him, how messed up he was? I did that to him. Me. That day at my house, I was so angry—completely out of my mind. And even before that…I imagined killing him so many times. I knew it was wrong to have those wicked thoughts, but I didn't care. I just didn't care!"

He's breathing hard now, his whole body shaking. He sounds so tortured and broken. Desperate to do something, anything, I sit up and touch his leg again.

"That man was a horrible person who did terrible things to you and your family! Who _wouldn't_ have those kinds of thoughts about him? You were just trying to survive. The things you did were out of self-defense or to protect others. Don't you remember how you stopped him from hurting me that day? If anything, it's his fault for forcing you act. All of this...e _verything_ is his fault. It's definitely not yours, Edward. Never yours."

Edward tries to wipes his tears away before they fall, but there are just too many of them. Eventually, he gives up and sobs into his arm.

"I miss her," he cries softly, sorrowfully. "I miss my mom."

My own eyes are wet as I slide my upper body onto his bed and lay my head on his pillow. I grab his hand and squeeze it tight.

"I know."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

* * *

He's running in my dream.

A flash of copper, gold, and green, streaking down a long field with the black and white ball spiraling in front of him. He's free and clear. There's no one in his way to stop his rush.

No one except the dark, twisted figure of his dad, laughing cruelly in front of the goal.

The spinning missile sails through the air and hits its mark with deadly precision. On impact, the shadowy figure splinters into nothingness, but the ball doesn't go past the posts. It is deflected to the side, out of bounds.

The man has been destroyed, but the game is still lost.

Edward falls to his knees, defeated. A cry of sadness and fear pierces the air.

I wake up with a groan, automatically reaching out a hand to grab my phone. Without needing to look, I know it's just after four in the morning. There aren't any new text alerts on my screen, but that doesn't mean Edward's asleep in his bed on the other side of town. Almost every day for the last six weeks, he's woken up around this hour—the time when Mr. Masen came back into our lives...and took Esme's.

I'd gotten so used to his shout startling me out of sleep that now my body regularly gets up at the same time, even though I've been back with Mama for a few weeks. When I first left the McCartys' house, Edward called me, panicked and confused, when the nightmares came and I wasn't there to hold him through the worst of it. As the days passed, the early calls turned into texts, and then one morning, nothing came. I was really worried but made myself wait before getting in touch with him, just in case he'd managed to sleep through the night.

He told me that's exactly what had happened, but I knew he was lying by the tone in his voice. He'd mentioned before that he didn't like feeling "weak" and leaning on me so much. When I called him out on not telling me the truth, he got mad and hung up. Both furious and concerned, I nearly skipped school and charged over to Carlisle's house, but good sense took over before I could do anything too crazy. I called Carlisle, who checked on him and said that Edward looked tired but was "okay."

Okay.

Ha.

Funny how much that word has changed for us. "Okay" for Edward and Carlisle means they're not having a mental breakdown or suffering from a hospital-worthy injury. I'm doing pretty good if I'm not in the middle of a panic attack, and Mary Alice is fine as long as she can see a familiar face at all times. That's actually a big step up from the first few weeks when she'd scream if she wasn't being held in familiar arms.

None of us are doing great by any stretch of the imagination. It's just that the bar's been lowered so much: as long as we're not in immediate danger from a homicidal nutjob—and also, in my case, my mama's drugged-up boyfriend—then the day's going pretty well.

Sighing heavily at the thought, I stare at my phone's screen and fight the urge to send a text to Edward. My therapist, Dr. Henry, says that reaching out to others for help is good but that it's also important to develop "independent coping strategies." And that goes for both me and Edward. So while I really want to talk to him right now—or better yet, snuggle up beside him—I put the phone on my nightstand and try to go back to sleep.

After flopping around in bed for a while, I manage to pass out for a few minutes here and there before the alarm goes off. I force open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. The weak January sun is just starting to peek out over the horizon, but not much light enters my room: the shades on my window are pulled down all the way. I never look toward the small house that stands just beyond our dilapidated fence.

The memories it inspires are too painful.

Mama's waiting for me in the kitchen when I stumble in, bleary-eyed, to get my breakfast. There's already a bowl of oatmeal, toast, and orange on the table. I tell her thanks in the most upbeat voice I can manage on such little sleep. She was thrilled when I came to live with her again, and so, despite how much I miss being with Edward every day, I try not to let it show.

I don't always do a great job at pretending to be okay…but I try.

"Anything exciting going on at school today?" she asks in a bright tone while wiping down the countertop.

"No," I mutter, because, seriously, when is school ever exciting? But then I notice the slight drop of Mama's shoulders and feel bad. "Uh, I get to work on an English project with Heidi and Tanya today. And since I already did Watership Down while I was at Hickory, it should be an easy A."

Mama turns toward me with a big smile on her face. "See, aren't you happy you're back at your old school? You get to be with your friends again, and the work is easier."

I try to keep my "teenager bitch face," as Rosalie calls it, from making an appearance. Figures Mama would see a crappy academic program as a good thing.

She picks up her rag as if to continue cleaning but then stops and makes a quiet throat-clearing sound. She stares at floor, looking embarrassed about something.

"Um, we're finally caught up. So, if anyone asks today, we're okay on our own now…for the utility bills I mean."

It takes my tired brain a few seconds to understand what she's saying. "Ask about the bills? Why would anyone at school… _oh!_ It's Friday!" Suddenly, I'm much more awake. I can't believe I'd forgotten what day it was. "Oh my God, it's _finally_ Friday! I need to get ready!"

Shoveling the rest of the oatmeal in my mouth, I run through a mental checklist of things I need to do. Mama had agreed that I could spend Friday nights at Carlisle's house, where Edward's staying again, since she usually doesn't get home from the restaurant until two in the morning. Thankfully, there shouldn't be much I need to bring over. Rosalie and Cynthia bought me a bunch of outfits during my stay with them, and I'd taken a few to leave at Carlisle's when Edward moved back. All I really have to do is throw into my backpack the electric toothbrush Jasper had given me for Christmas and the math notes from last year that I'd never gotten around to tossing. Cynthia's insisted Edward keep up with his online homeschooling, and I try to help him out as much I can.

Too excited to finish my food, I dump the rest in the trash and hurry to my room to get dressed. Mama looks kind of downcast when I rush past her to catch the bus, but I don't have it in me to dial down my happiness. I haven't seen Edward or Mary Alice or the Cullen/McCarty family since last weekend, and I can't wait.

School drags just as much as I was afraid it would. The only "interesting" event happens at the end of the day when I'm at my locker gathering my stuff. Derrick, a guy from my History class, saunters up to me and leans against a neighboring locker.

"Heya, Bella," he says, giving me an appraising look. "Good to see you back at Northern. We all missed you, ya know."

I zip my bag and close the locker door before turning to face him. "Sorry, but I can't help you out anymore. I was just doing it because…well, I needed the money, and now…things are different."

Derrick leans in closer to me. "Aw, come on—everyone can use a little extra cash, right? Hell, with all the shit you keep getting into, maybe you should hire a bodyguard."

His laugh is condescending, but I don't tell him to go to hell like I want to. The excited gossip surrounding my departure and return to Northern High is just starting to die down, and I'm sticking to plan of keeping quiet about everything that happened. Besides, Derrick did bring up a good point about putting some money away. Mama might be holding down a full-time job and staying clean now, but there's no guarantee she won't slip up. I can't rely on others to bail us out if something should happen again…I don't _want_ to rely on others.

We've done that too much already, as it is.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and then let out a huff. "Fine, but it'll be thirty bucks a page this time, plus the usual add-ons."

"Damn, girl, you drive a hard bargain," he says with a mischievous grin. "You're gonna clean me out in no time."

"Not likely," I mutter, starting to walk toward the exit. Derrick's been dealing drugs since middle school and never seems short on eager customers. "Why do you even bother with school?"

"Fuckin' parents'll kick me out of the house if I don't pass. I gotta good thing goin' right now, and I don't wanna live on the streets if I don't hafta."

I jump a little when he slings an arm over my shoulder and puts his mouth close to my ear.

"By the way, you're lookin' fine these days, Bella. Real fine. If you ever need more than what you bring in from homework, lemme know. Some people pay _a lot_ for hot little girls like you."

Shocked at what he's suggesting, I can only stand, frozen, as he slides his hand down my shoulder, over my breast, and to my waist. But when he pushes up the hem of my shirt and his fingers touch bare skin, I snap out of my daze and jerk away from him.

Derrick doesn't seem offended at all, however. He just smirks and gives me one last up-and-down look.

"A virgin like you could clear a thousand, easy," he says over his shoulder as he walks away. "Think about it."

My entire body shudders with disgust. At the same time, I wonder what it is about me that screams "cherry intact" to him. Is it that obvious?

On the bus ride to Carlisle's, I _do_ think about what Derrick said to me—but not in the way he meant. I know a couple freshmen girls who supposedly have had sex already. One of them, Amanda, is in my gym class, and she's always talking about how great it is. Based on everything I've heard and seen, including in my own house, she must be right. But Rosalie's done her part in pounding the possible consequences into my head, so although I don't have anything against having sex at fourteen or fifteen or whatever, I'm not in huge rush.

That's not saying I want to wait until I'm married, which is what Edward's church teaches. I'm _really_ hoping he lets that one slide, because otherwise, I'll be doing something crazy like pushing him to get married right out of high school. There's no way in hell I'm waiting until I'm twenty-something, and Edward's the only one I want to have sex with.

He's the only one, period.

Since his mama died, our touches and kisses have pretty much been only for comfort. That's what we needed and wanted. But last Saturday, I thought I felt some of the old excitement in my stomach when we kissed goodbye a little longer than usual. I think he noticed, too. We didn't talk about it in our texts or calls, but I've built myself up all week hoping that something similar will happen again.

I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I almost miss my stop. Yelling out to the driver, I hurry through the aisle and then jump off the steps. I expect to see Edward and Carlisle, or maybe Cynthia with Mary Alice, but the combination of people waiting for me is a new one. Edward's there, as he usually is, but instead of a Cullen or McCarty, a teenaged guy is standing beside him.

We'd had a "family meeting" last weekend to talk about easing up on security. Andrew, the one who'd been driving Mr. Masen's get-away Jeep, hasn't been caught yet. The fourth member of the Inner Circle, Peter, was never arrested due to lack of evidence linking him to assault. However, police were able to confirm Andrew took a flight to North Dakota, and Emmett's been keeping an eye on Peter. Because Rose is almost seven months pregnant, he's been overly cautious. So, when he agreed the threat risk to us is now low, I took him at his word. Still, it's strange for me to find Edward out of the house with a person I've never met and no adult in sight.

I walk over to them, staring openly at the other kid. I give Edward a questioning look, but apparently, he's got other things on his mind than making introductions.

When I'm close enough, he takes hold of my waist and pulls me roughly against his body. I try not to smack into him too hard considering his leg still isn't one hundred percent, but he doesn't seem to care about any possible pain or balance issues. Surprised by his enthusiastic greeting, I wait breathlessly for the quick kiss on the cheek or lips that he normally gives me around other people.

His head lowers, but instead of a sweet peck, he's moving his mouth eagerly over mine. He feels warm and firm and impatient. I gasp when his tongue darts out to touch my lips, and then he's pushing inside with long, deliberate strokes.

It takes less than a heartbeat for me to respond. I drop my backpack on the ground so that my hands are free to reach for the back of his neck. My fingers bury themselves in the soft hair there and tug gently on the strands. Someone groans—I'm not sure who. Completely lost in the taste and feel of his kiss, I lose track of all unimportant details, including the stranger standing only a few feet away. All my senses are wrapped up in Edward, where they most like to be.

Though it's more than we've done in weeks, he breaks away too soon for me. I'm left panting, stunned, and frustrated, my eyes wide with bemusement. Edward only smirks and uses an arm around my waist to turn me toward the new guy.

"So, yeah, this is Bella, my girlfriend," he says, pride in his voice. "And this is Colton. He lives a few houses down from us."

"You can call me Cole," the teen says with a friendly smile. "E's told me a lot about you."

"Uh…'E'?" I ask, frowning.

"Yeah. We decided it was better than 'Ed.'"

"And what's wrong with 'Edward'?" I ask, narrowing my eyes a little.

The person in question gives me a sheepish grin. "Cole says it's old-school lame. I'll be better off starting at Hickory if I go by E."

"Uh, what? Hickory…as in, the high school?" I'm totally lost now.

Edward…E… _whatever_ …laughs and squeezes his arm around me. "It's not for sure, but I've been thinking about trying it out—see what I've been missing all these years. Come on, I'll tell you everything, but let's start heading home first. It's freezing out here, and my gimp leg's gonna slow us down as it is."

 _Gimp_ leg? Did he get that from Cole?

My mind's spinning as Edward proceeds to tell me how he, Cynthia, and Mary Alice ran into Cole on Tuesday during one of Edward's therapy walks to strengthen his injured leg muscle. Cynthia chatted him up for a few minutes, and when she realized his parents were clients of CBW Landscaping, she invited them all over to dinner at Carlisle's the next day. The two teens got to know each other, and Cole went back to hang out with Edward yesterday after school let out for him.

Cole's a sophomore at Hickory High. Thinking back on my three months there, I remember some of the girls in my classes had talked about having a crush on a guy with that name who fits the description. Apparently, he's something of a big deal at the school for being a nationally-ranked lacrosse player.

I guess I can agree that the guy's kinda cute. His hair is a hazel-y brown with streaks of blond that shine even in winter sunlight. He's got nice eyes—blue—and a bright, straight smile that seems to come easily. I figure if he's such a great athlete, there's got to be a decent physique under the several layers of clothes. And last I heard, he'd broken up with his girlfriend over the summer and was single.

For those girls, he's ideal crush material, but I wasn't interested at all. Even before I met him, I knew he wouldn't compare to Edward in my eyes.

Now I have proof positive.

Cole's saying something about Hickory, but I'm not paying attention, instead noting the differences between the two guys. Edward is leaner and somewhat shorter, though it's hard to tell how much is due to his limping gait. He might also be younger, but his features seem more mature to me. Cole, on the other hand, has a boyish softness around his face that makes him look like his mama still packs his lunches or something.

But, overall, the guy's not too bad. I'd say he's a good 7.5, maybe 8 on my cuteness scale.

Edward, of course, is a 10.

As we near the house, Mr. Perfect Ten catches me glancing at Cole. A slight frown appears on his face, and he grips my hand tighter. Something clicks in my head. I'd been so caught up in the intensity of the earlier kiss that I just now realize Edward was either acting possessive, trying to earn cool points with his new friend, or maybe even showing me off. I consider how I feel about that.

Hmm.

Maybe it's shallow of me, but I don't think I have a problem with him amping up the heat because of a competitive streak or jealousy. Actually, I'm a little flattered that he sees me as someone worth staking a claim over.

I give his hand an affectionate squeeze in return.

Cynthia's in the kitchen when we get inside, working on one of her elaborate meals. Edward told me the whole family's eating here tonight. Almost every weeknight, Cynthia makes dinner at Carlisle's for the two Cullen brothers. She's been coming over to stay with Edward during the day since Carlisle and Jasper finally went back to work two weeks ago.

Jasper still has to use crutches to get around—he's supposed to be cleared to put weight on his leg next week—but luckily for the business, it's the off season. Other than that fateful Thanksgiving storm, there hasn't been much snow so far this winter. Carlisle and a few other employees are doing maintenance on equipment while Jasper handles paperwork in the office.

At least, that's what he's _supposed_ to be doing. Cynthia's caught him more than once with grease on his hands.

Mary Alice must have just woken up from a nap because she didn't run toward the door the moment she heard it open. But her sluggishness disappears when she sees us come into the kitchen.

"Bewwa!" she screeches, plowing into my legs and trying to climb them. "You is here!"

I pick her up and give her kisses, ignoring the verbal mistakes. Her language development regressed after Esme's death, but it's not in me to correct her like the adults do. In some ways, I can sympathize with her. I feel as though I've taken steps backward, too.

"Hey, Bella! How are you doing, hon? How was your week?" Cynthia asks as she stirs something that smells really good.

"Great, now that it's Friday." I glance around the busy kitchen and grimace at the sink full of used cookware. "Uh, do you need any help in here?"

She laughs while shaking her head. "No, but it's sweet of you to offer, unlike _someone_ I know."

Edward looks sheepishly down at the floor. "Um, sorry."

"Oh, I'm just playin' with ya," she replies with a grin. "I'll cut you some slack since you have a guest over. Speaking of which, I took some snacks to the rec room. Just don't make too much of a mess."

We head downstairs, where Cynthia left a large tray loaded with fruit, popcorn, cookies, and lemonade. Mary Alice bypasses the plastic bowl of cut-up strawberries clearly meant for her and grabs the biggest cookie on the plate.

"Mine!" she declares loudly, staring us all down with challenge in her eyes.

We laugh as she tries to stuff the whole thing in her mouth at once. I fix my own plate and get settled on the couch. There are two game controllers on the cushions, and when I look at the TV, I see a PlayStation 4 attached.

"When did you get this?" I ask Edward when he sits down beside me.

"It's Cole's. He couldn't believe I'd never played video games so he brought it over. I'm finally getting decent on the racing one."

" _Project Cars_ isn't the best, but it's about all we've got until they come out with the next _Gran Turismo_ ," Cole states authoritatively.

I have no idea what he's talking about but nod my head anyway. Other than the two times in my life I'd been lucky enough to go to an arcade, I haven't played video games, either.

Edward seems so happy to have a guy friend over that I'm not _too_ upset about being made to feel like the third wheel. I play with Mary Alice while they race their virtual cars, laughing and shouting at the screen and doing what I guess are teenage male bonding things. Since they've pretty much forgotten about me, I can watch their interaction without even having to be sneaky about it.

Cole acts a little cocky and is completely at ease. He's obviously a natural leader-type who is used to being in the spotlight. I notice that Edward glances at him often, like he's gathering clues on how to act. It'd be sort of cute if I weren't unhappy about his new _boy friend_ encroaching on the short amount of time I have with my _boyfriend_.

When Mary Alice gets fussy, I'm glad to have a reason to escape upstairs.

"There she is!" Cynthia exclaims in a cheery voice, sweeping the little girl out of my arms. "I was just about to see if she needed a diaper change."

"I can do it. It's not a big deal," I say, following them to the where the diaper bag sits in the living room. "Don't you want more of a break from watching her all day?"

"Not at all." Cynthia pauses for a moment before slowly pulling out the changing supplies. "You know how much I loved Esme. She quickly became a dear friend to me. Losing her was so hard, and I miss her every day. That's why it feels terrible for me to be happy about having Mary Alice and Edward in my life like this. I know I could never take Esme's place, nor do I want to, but these two have been family to us ever since the day Carlisle picked them up from that tiny motel room. The same goes for you."

She sniffs and swipes a hand across her eyes. Feeling both grateful and awkward at the same time, I give her a quick hug while mumbling my thanks.

"I love taking care of you all; being a parent is something I've always wanted. Remember, Jasper and I weren't sure if we'd ever have the chance to change diapers," she continues with a watery smile. "So I don't plan on taking a single one of them for granted."

It looks like she's going to start sobbing any second.

"Hmm…even the poopy ones?" I ask in a dramatically incredulous voice as I widen my eyes.

As I'd hoped, she appreciates my attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"Yes, you goof, even those. After all, her pediatrician thinks we might be able to start potty training soon. It seems my diaper-changing days are limited."

She becomes quiet, giving her attention to taking care of Mary Alice. A question pops into my mind, one I've thought about before but never found the right time to bring up.

"So, uh…are you gonna adopt them?" I ask hesitantly.

Cynthia glances to the basement door, then sits back on her heels with a troubled expression on her face. "Jasper and I would _love_ to adopt them both. In fact, we're ready to start the process right away. It's just...we're not sure Edward would react well if we bring up the subject so soon after Esme's passing. On top of that, he's much closer to Carlisle than us…but the idea of splitting him and Merr up like that, well…" She shakes her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't go into the subject, especially since we haven't talked to him about it yet. I'd really appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, at least until we feel he's ready to think clearly about something so important. Just...know that we'll always love and want them."

Now my eyes are watery, too.

I open my mouth to tell her how great I think she is but then snap it shut when I hear Edward and Cole come up from the basement. The incredible amount of noise they're making on the stairs makes it sound like there are more than just two of them. Cynthia smiles to herself as she finishes with Mary Alice.

"Hey, you snuck out on us!" Edward pouts when he sees me.

The green puppy dog eyes might be adorable, but they don't stop me from aiming an annoyed frown his way.

"I told you Merr was bored and I was taking her upstairs, but you weren't paying attention. Sorry I didn't stick a note on the TV screen so you'd see it," I reply sarcastically.

He looks confused. Cole just laughs.

"Nice one, B."

The corners of Edward's lips turn down when he hears my new nickname.

"Are you leaving now, Cole?" Cynthia asks, nodding to the PlayStation console he's carrying. "You're more than welcome to stay for dinner."

He flashes a charming smile as he shakes his head in apology. "Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Cullen, but my dad's taking us out to eat tonight."

"Oh, how nice! Maybe another time then. Please tell your parents we said hello." She turns to Edward and me. "Everyone's on their way, so set the table after you see him out." With Mary Alice on her heels, she gives Cole a final wave and heads to the kitchen.

Edward reaches for my hand as we walk toward the front door. For half a second, I think about snubbing him, but I hate to waste any of my limited time with him holding a grudge over something that really shouldn't be a big deal.

On the porch, Cole punches Edward on the arm as he tells "E" goodbye. He gives me a winning grin similar to the one just laid on Cynthia and says he looks forward to seeing me again. I don't pick up on anything other than friendliness in his tone, but Edward still slides his arm around my waist in a possessive way.

When we go back inside, I immediately pull away from him, cross my arms, and raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Okay, now you wanna tell me what all _that was_ about?"

Edward either isn't following me or is deliberately acting dumb. He shrugs and then gives me an eager smile.

"So what'd you think of Cole—he's not too bad, huh? Said he'd introduce me to some of his friends, and we could all hang out. That way, when… _if_ …I go to Hickory, I'll already know some people."

"Yeah, I guess…but…are you sure—"

I'm interrupted by a yell from the kitchen.

"Start setting the table, you two! We're going to eat as soon as they get here!"

Cynthia's reminder jolts Edward into action, and he hurries into the dining room. But I don't move right away, instead absently watching his retreating form until it disappears around the corner.

For a day that had started out routine, it sure took a weird turn. So many unexpected things happened to me.

Hearing Derrick's skeevy proposal. Getting kissed senseless. Meeting Cole. Learning about Cynthia and Jasper's adoption hopes.

And then there's the possibility of Edward going to school for the first time…

It's too much to process at once, especially when all I really want to do is curl up on the couch beside my boyfriend and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. But there's a table to be set, dinner to be eaten, and cleanup to be done.

And then after that…I think Edward and I need to have a long talk.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

* * *

 _"I'm sick of being scared and hurt and worried. I just wanna…I dunno…be free of it all for once. Be a normal person who goes to school and hangs out with friends—like Cole."_

With a minute left on the clock, Northern's coach calls a timeout. Cheerleaders bounce in front of the screaming crowd while the players huddle up. Hickory leads by eight and is so close to winning a spot in the playoffs, but the game's not over yet.

I'm standing beside Edward in a sea of Hickory blue. The bleachers on the other side of the court are covered in Northern red. I thought it'd be funny to wear purple tonight, but apparently, not everyone appreciates my sense of humor. Most of the looks I've gotten from people who know my situation haven't been very…supportive.

"Come on, Hawks!" Edward yells out, pumping his fist in the air like pretty much everyone else around us.

I want to join in, just so I'm not the only person in the gym besides the refs not cheering, but this is a season-ending game, and I've already been called a traitor more than once tonight. Edward smirked each time he heard it and wrapped his arm tighter around me.

 _"Why would you be worried about things changing with us if I go to school? We'll still talk and text and see each other on the weekends, just like always."_

When Northern misses a half-court attempt at the buzzer and Hickory wins by three, pandemonium breaks out on the home team's side. Everyone is screaming and hugging and smacking each other on the back. Edward bumps fists with a bunch of his upperclassmen friends. He gets quick hugs from a few girls, too.

Though there doesn't seem to be any ulterior motive in the girls' actions, I still pull Edward's head down and kiss him deeply. I don't want there to be any question that this guy is taken.

By me.

He's caught off-guard at first but quickly matches my enthusiasm. In fact, his hands drop to my hips and pull my body closer. Both his breathing and the movement of his lips speed up. I can feel his fingers tightening their hold. A jolt of excitement runs through me, and I suddenly want to be somewhere a lot more private.

One of the reasons for that wish interrupts us with a laugh.

"I didn't expect to get a twofer tonight: a game _and_ a live show," Cole teases, standing way too close for my comfort.

Edward pulls away to smirk at him. "Whatever, loser. What d'ya want?"

"We're walking over to Primo Pizzeria for some food before the party at Josh's. You're coming, right?"

"To Primo's, yeah. I'm not sure about the party, though. I don't have a ride, and—"

Cole waves his hand in the air. "Don't worry about that. We'll find space in someone's car."

"Well, the thing is, I'd have to talk to my…to Carlisle…and see if it's okay." Edward frowns and looks away like he's irritated by the idea.

"Oh." Cole flashes him a look of pity before shrugging. "Just don't wait too long to let me know so I can get some wheels lined up for you."

I sigh quietly as we follow him out of the crowded gym. Another weekend, more time spent with Cole and his friends. Edward got a lot of things wrong six weeks ago when we talked. We still spend our Fridays and Saturdays together, but they're not "just like always." Cole's presence makes sure of that.

 _"He hangs out with a lot of his team members from lacrosse, and they're all juniors and seniors, 'cept for him, of course. Maybe you know some of them? I hope so, because I could use some help not looking like an idiot. You can teach me how to act around regular people our age."_

"Hey, we've been waiting for you. Move it, 'cuz I'm starving!"

I don't know which one said it from the group of teens waiting for us on the sidewalk, but as soon as we get closer, they all start walking in the direction of the restaurant. A dark-haired guy—Grant, I think—drops back to talk about the game we just saw.

Edward's just as much a part of the conversation as Cole. Looking relaxed and confident, he interacts with them as if he's known both of them for years, instead of weeks. If I didn't know otherwise, right now I'd never guess he'd grown up the way he did—sheltered, abused, and raised with radical beliefs. He doesn't need my help fitting in at all. In fact, I should probably take lessons from _him_.

Having absolutely nothing to say about basketball, I focus on the way Edward's hand feels around mine and absent-mindedly glance at the group we're with. Looks like there are eight of us, including two other girls besides me. With all the giggling they're doing together, I'm guessing they must be good friends. I don't remember seeing them before, but the taller of the two girls is holding onto the arm of one of Cole's teammates, a senior named Scott.

Luck is on our side when we get to the very busy restaurant. A family stands up from their table, and Scott rushes over to claim it before anyone else can. It's a booth that's designed for four adults, but Scott is determined to make it work for us. The dark-haired girl beside him steps forward and takes charge.

"Cole, Scott, and me will sit on this side." She points to the one guy in our group that I don't know. "Kevin, steal a chair from another table and sit on the end. The rest of you get the other side."

Grant frowns at her. "Um, Kirstie? There's no way the four of us'll fit on this bench. Hell, even three's gonna be tight."

Kirstie rolls her eyes. "Edward's girlfriend will sit on his lap, obviously. Now hurry up and get in. The longer we screw around, the longer it'll be before someone comes to take our order."

Grumbling under his breath, Grant reluctantly slides across the bench until his shoulder touches the wall. Kirstie's friend scoots in beside him, and Edward situates himself at the end, one long leg angled toward the aisle. He smiles at me and pats his thigh invitingly.

I'm more than happy to take a seat. His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me toward him so that my back rests against the left side of his chest. And although he's gone right back into conversation with Cole and the guy named Kevin, the way his thumb is stroking a small patch of my stomach under the table makes me feel as if we're sharing an intimate secret.

I'm tempted to "accidentally" pull up my shirt just enough that he touches skin, but there's a decent chance his reaction wouldn't be good. To him, clothes seem to be some weird sacred barrier that he won't cross. I'm guessing it has to do with the way he grew up—maybe there's a church rule about it. I'm sort of embarrassed to ask but doubt he'll ever tell me on his own.

It takes a while for a waiter to appear. No one at the table tries to talk to me—and I'm absolutely fine with that—until Kirstie focuses her dark brown eyes on me.

"Hey," she says brightly, "you're Becca, right?"

"Bella," I correct.

"Oh, that's pretty. I'm Kirstie, by the way."

"And I'm Jenna," the other girl pipes up from Edward's right. "So how are you liking Hickory so far?"

"Well, actually, I'm back at Northern again. But I did like Hickory while I was there."

Jenna's face scrunches up in confusion. "Why'd you leave? Did you move again or something?"

Everyone is looking at me, waiting for my answer, and I shift self-consciously on Edward's lap. "Um…yeah. That's basically what happened," I hedge. I don't want to go into all the depressing details.

Jenna nods, but Kirstie's eyes narrow in thought. "Does it have something to do with E's dad? He was after you, too, right?"

I can feel Edward's muscles tensing and twist my head to look at his face. The anger there is obvious, but I'm able to see anxiety and sadness, as well. A surge of protectiveness rises up in me. My initial urge is to tell her off for being such a nosey, insensitive jerk, but then I realize that might cause problems with Edward's friends. Swallowing my resentment, I force my mouth to make the shape of a smile.

"I'm living in a different place now," I say as evenly as I can. "My move had nothing to do with Edward."

"Okay, but—"

"Hey, so are you and Scott together now?" I ask quickly, hoping to deflect her with a subject change.

It works.

Kirstie's face reddens as she looks down at the table. It's obvious that she's uncomfortable with the question. Scott doesn't look like he's doing much better. I'm sorry about dragging him into the situation—he seems like a nice enough guy—but when it comes to Edward, there's not much I won't do.

Scott takes a breath as if he's going to be the one to break the awkward silence, but Kirstie beats him to it.

"No, we're just… _friends_ ," she says in quiet, wistful voice that makes it obvious how much she wishes they were more than that.

To take the heat off her friend, Jenna immediately asks Kirstie a question about some English project they have together. Grant starts up a conversation with Scott, who looks thankful to be out of the spotlight. He might be relieved about Kirstie's answer, too. He inches away from her ever so slightly, but it's enough that she notices. Her whole body seems to deflate with disappointment.

I can't help but feel bad for her. Though there certainly have been a few rough patches, my relationship with Edward developed naturally over the years. We started out as best friends, and luckily, our feelings toward one another changed at about the same time. I've never had to deal with a hopeless crush—which is fine with me.

Thinking about how much I care for Edward, I squeeze my hand over the one he has on my stomach. He bends forward just enough to peck my cheek, but I want to be closer. I'm only sitting one leg because his other one is still sore from his injury, and my position is making it hard for me to lean back against his chest the way I want.

My solution is to slide off his thigh onto the bench between his legs. It turns out there's not much space between me and the table edge. I shimmy away from it to make some room. I also notice that Edward's not sitting as far back on the bench as he could, so I wiggle my butt into him as a signal to move.

It takes me a good second or two to understand why he lets out a barely audible squeak, why his hands suddenly fly to my waist to hold me still, why his breathing gets a little heavier. I freeze in place, not wanting to make things worse for him. But that, in turn, makes it easier for me to feel a growing hardness pressing into my backside.

And then I'm the one letting out a squeak and breathing faster.

I glance around the table. No one seems to be paying attention to us. I want to stay still for Edward's sake, but there's an increasingly urgent ache between my own legs that's driving me crazy. I squirm uncomfortably, trying to get some sort of relief.

The fingers at my waist move down to my hips and tighten almost to the point of causing pain. But for reasons I don't understand, the digging pressure only intensifies my desire. I rub my thighs together and clench my hands into fists. Groaning quietly in my hair, Edward slides me slightly to the left so that my backside grinds over him.

 _All_ of him.

I can clearly feel his shape lying along the inside of his thigh, and I gasp.

Loudly.

Conversation screeches to a halt as the rest of the group look at me. I blurt out the first believable explanation that comes to mind.

"Oh! Sorry…I just remembered that I, um, need to make a call," I say breathlessly. "Be right back."

I shrug out of my jacket and leave it on Edward's lap as I jump up. It's the least I can do for him before I escape his friends' questioning eyes.

It's freezing outside, but my overheated body barely notices. I pace back and forth on the sidewalk, trying to calm down, trying to forget the amazing sensation of that hardness pressing against me.

I fail on both accounts. Not even memories of Rosalie's stern abstinence lectures are able to penetrate the lust-induced fog in my head. I'm only thinking of one thing: how I can manage some alone time with Edward so that we can continue what was started at the table.

Maybe we can go to the party and find an empty room there…

"Hey, Bella! Long time no see!"

I spin toward the voice, a grin spreading across my face at the sight of the dark-haired guy approaching the entrance of the pizzeria.

"Eric! Hi, how's it going?"

He stops in front of me and pouts. "Well, it's been a lot less fun at Hickory since you left."

"Oh yeah," I chuckle. "That's me, the life of the party."

He laughs, too. "Hey, you were the only thing keeping me awake in English." He pauses for a second as his cheery expression dims. "Seriously though, it sucked that you had to leave, especially after…you know…what _happened_. I wanted to check in on you, but I didn't have your number or anything."

"It was nice of you to think about me," I reply earnestly. "And to tell the truth, I probably wouldn't have picked up even if you had called. I was really out of it for a while."

"Yeah, I can understand why." Eric shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that. It's a little late for this, but if you ever need anything, gimme a call, okay?"

He whips a pen out of his coat pocket and begins scribbling his phone number on the back of my hand before I realize what's going on. While I'm not thrilled about having blue ink on my skin, his warm gesture makes me smile.

"Thanks," I say. "So, I take it you were at the game, too? Pep Band or regular crowd?"

"Pep Band," he says proudly. "You're looking at the only freshman they asked." He pretends to glance around covertly. "Though I don't know if I should be seen talking to someone from the enemy school. My license to 'pep' might be revoked."

"Afraid I'll get my Northern cooties on you?" I joke, reaching out a hand to him that he playfully dodges. We exchange another smile. "Hey, it was good seeing you again, Eric, but I need to get back to my—"

" _Boyfriend_?"

A bitter voice interrupts as an arm wraps around my waist. Edward tugs me into him so quickly that I almost stumble.

"Who's this?" he asks harshly.

I pull away from his side to look up at him. "Eric's also a freshman at Hickory. He was in a couple of my classes and helped me out when I first got there. I haven't seen him since I left, and we were catching up." I can't help sounding defensive.

"You're Edward Masen, right?" Eric asks politely. "I've seen you around school."

"If you say so," Edward replies in a frosty tone, then grabs my hand. "Come on, we're going back inside now."

This time, I do stumble when he pulls me toward the entrance. I have to take a few running steps to keep from falling. When I finally regain my balance, I shoot Edward a burning glare and turn to Eric.

"Sorry about that," I say with as much dignity as I can muster. "Apparently, _some_ people are in need of a lecture about how not to be a jerk."

Eric's eyes move back and forth between me and a silently seething Edward. "Is everything okay, Bella? I can hang around if you're not feeling…safe…"

"What are you trying to say?" Edward growls, taking a step toward Eric. "I would _never_ hurt her. You, on the other hand…"

He advances again, stopping just within arm's reach of the other guy. Although Edward stands a good five or six inches taller and is clearly more athletic, Eric shows no signs of backing down. I don't want to consider the idea that Edward would actually hit him, but the truth is that I'm just not sure.

My hands curl around his upper right arm as a precaution. When Edward realizes what I'm doing, he first stares down at where I'm touching him and then gapes at me in both astonishment and anger—like he can't believe I'd dare try to interfere. His expression is hauntingly familiar, and it only takes me a second to place it. I'd seen it flash across Mr. Masen's face on those very few occasions that Esme stood up to him.

"Edward," I gasp, fear evident in my voice. But it's not fear _of_ him. I'm not worried about any danger to myself.

No. It's fear _for_ him. Of the potential in him to follow down his father's dark path.

His eyes meet mine and widen. I can see the exact moment the dots connect in his head. He drops his head as his tense muscles slacken.

"It's was great talking to you again, Eric," I say, though keeping my gaze on Edward. "I'm sure I'll see you around sometime."

"Uh, yeah, okay." My friend's confusion is obvious, but he decides let it go with only a final reminder and a scowl directed at Edward. "But be sure to let me know if you need…whatever."

As soon as he's out of earshot, I start in on Edward, who is eyeing me warily.

"So, you wanna tell me what the heck was up with the caveman act you just tried to pull? You've been getting more and more possessive as the weeks go by." I sigh in exasperation and shake my head. "The way you acted with Eric just now crossed the line. He's only a _friend_ —one of the few I've got. We're not even close. I know you grew up seeing the way your dad treated Esme, but I won't let you do that crap to me. If you're gonna keep acting like that, well…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he replies in a low, frustrated voice. His hand rakes through already disheveled hair. "But you're not helping any. I mean, how do you expect me act when you keep attracting male attention to yourself?"

" _What_?" I ask, incredulous. "Exactly how am I 'attracting attention'?"

"Your clothes—they're… _obscene_!"

"Obscene? Are you kidding me? First of all, _no,_ they're not, and second, I'm not the one who bought most of them, anyway. Rose and Cee pick up stuff for me on their own, and beggars can't be choosers. But I still don't even get what you're talking about. Like, what could possibly be so terrible about what I'm wearing now? It's just jeans and a shirt."

"Jeans and a shirt that put all of your form on display! And then there's, well…I can see your…you know… _chest_."

He points toward me with embarrassment in his eyes—and a little bit of desire, too. I glance down at my modestly cut long-sleeved shirt, wondering what could be causing his reaction.

I understand immediately.

Although my brain hadn't registered the low outside temperature yet, my body certainly had. Blushing fiercely, I cross my arms in front of me to hide the small but noticeable bumps on my shirt caused by tightened nipples.

"Oh, give me a break; I'm cold!" I retort. "It's not like I can help it. And you know why I left my jacket in the restaurant."

Edward's embarrassment deepens, but he continues to press. "So why'd you come out here then? If you'd stayed in the restaurant, then you wouldn't be cold, and you wouldn't have run into that guy, and I wouldn't have looked for you, only to find you with him, sticking out your chest like a…a… _harlot!_ "

A few seconds of stunned silence pass before I'm able to get my tongue working again. Edward stares at me, his arms also crossed, his expression now full of accusation. I have to take several deep breaths to calm down so that I don't scream at him.

"You know, I'm not even sure that to do with that," I reply tightly. "I guess…if that's what you really think of me, maybe I should go back to Carlisle's so that you don't have to worry about being seen with a whore like me."

"Bella," he gasped. "I don't think you actually _are_ one of those. I just feel like...sometimes your clothes are a little too…revealing…to wear in public."

I shake my head in disbelief. "Look, I get that you're used to the long dresses the women in your church wear, but my clothes are totally normal. Actually, they're conservative when you compare it to other girls'. And it's about the same as what you've seen me wear since I was a kid. You didn't seem to have a problem with it before."

"Things are different now," Edward argued. " _We're_ different now."

"Because we're older?"

"Well, that's part of it. But a lot of things have changed in the past year. Before, you weren't so…and now you've got, you know, a _shape_ …and you and me are, well…"

He trails off, flustered and tongue-tied. It would be sort of cute if I wasn't so upset with him. My eyes narrow as I huff.

"What? Just say it, already."

"Well, since we're, uh, _together_ , what we do affects each other. I know you're a good person, Bella, but when you dress like that, with your tight clothes and jewelry and all—well, it makes us both look bad."

My jaw drops. Like, it literally drops open with a quiet pop in my ears. I stand in front of him, now shivering because of the cold but hardly noticing it, just trying to process what he said. A full minute passes, and my brain is still too shocked to work. Edward looks around uneasily.

"Let's just go back inside, okay?" he says finally. "The food's probably ready by now, and it's freezing out here. We can talk about this later if you want."

The last thing in the world I want to do right now is return to Edward's friends at the crowded table where I'd have to sit on his lap and pretend everything's okay. I wrap my arms more tightly around my body.

"Yeeeah, I'm not feeling very social anymore. I think I'm gonna have someone to pick me up and take me back to Carlisle's now."

"That's dumb," Edward protests. "Look, it's only going to take another thirty minutes or so to eat, and then everyone'll be going to the party. We'll drop you off on the way. You can wait until then."

"Um, no, I can't," I spit out angrily. "I don't think you understand that I wasn't asking for your input or permission. I'm going inside to get my jacket and say goodbye to your friends, and then I'm calling Carlisle. End of discussion."

I start walking toward the restaurant doors. Edward grabs my arm as I pass, but I jerk out of his grasp and keep going.

He follows me in without saying another word. I can tell by his heavy footsteps and huffs of breath that he's mad, but I couldn't care less.

Everyone stares at us in curiosity when we stomp back to the table. Grabbing my jacket, I avoid meeting anyone's gaze as I mutter something about not feeling well. Scott actually offers to take me to Carlisle's right away—a gesture that causes scowls on the faces of both Edward and Kirstie. I thank him but politely decline.

I'll admit, I'm somewhat surprised when Edward doesn't come outside to wait with me. In fact, he doesn't even say goodbye, instead glaring at the floor as I turn to leave.

And while that's just what I want at the moment—to get away from everyone, including him—a small, irrational part of me is disappointed that he didn't try harder to change my mind.

The wind has picked up during the few minutes I spent inside. Its biting edge cuts through my jacket and causes tears to form in my eyes. Cold and alone, I pull out my phone to call Carlisle.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

 *** This chapter contains material that may act as a trigger for some readers. Please PM me if you'd like details.**

* * *

Crowds of people braving the cold on a Friday night, blurred storefront signs, the harsh glare of city lights—I stare blankly at the scenery through the passenger-side window as my tired mind wanders everywhere and nowhere. It flips through memories of the basketball game, the fight with Edward, huddling in my jacket against the wind while waiting to be picked up…

Even though the cab of the truck is plenty warm, I shiver in my seat.

"You can turn the heat up if you're cold."

Carlisle's voice is low and raspy, as if he's trying to push his words through dust-covered cobwebs in his throat. And given how little he talks these days, I wouldn't be surprised if that were true.

"I'm okay for now, thanks," I mumble, not turning away from the window.

Our brief exchange over, we both lapse back into silence. Classic rock plays softly on the radio, its volume not much louder than the hum of the engine. Every now and then, I pick up the strains to Billy Joel's _Only the Good Die Young_.

Some parts of it could be appropriate, I guess, except I'm not _trying_ to corrupt Edward like in the song. He just apparently thinks I am.

Fresh irritation prickles over my skin, and with a barely-stifled grunt of frustration, I smack my hand down on the knob to the audio system, shutting it off.

Take _that_ , Virginia.

"Good call," Carlisle says quietly, his voice tinged with sadness.

I look at him, wondering how he could have known what happened between Edward and me when I haven't really told him anything yet. But then I see the pained expression on his face and realize he wasn't applying the song to our situation at all.

No, Carlisle was thinking about someone decent and kind who actually had died too soon—someone he'd loved and lost.

Someone _Edward_ had loved and lost, as well.

Suddenly, my problems seem a lot less important.

On one hand, there's no question in my mind that Edward was out of line with both his words and his behavior. He'd embarrassed me in front of a friend, threatened that friend, criticized my clothes, and ordered me around. And when I'd called him out on it, he hadn't seemed very remorseful.

I know his actions are symptoms of larger issues. It's obvious he has a messed up view of our roles in the relationship. I think he might even see me—a female—as less of an equal and more as a possession. That's a big problem in my book. Despite how much I care about him, I can't—I _won't_ be with a person who treats me like I'm somehow inferior or subservient.

But…am I expecting too much, too soon?

Edward's dealing with almost fifteen years of brainwashing and abuse. He'd lived in a violently toxic environment—one that was created by a person who was supposed to love and protect his family unconditionally. More than once, he had to fight his own father for his life, suffering painful injuries in the process. And only a few months ago, his mama was killed in front of his eyes.

Although he's now meeting regularly with a therapist, the emotional trauma he faced is going to take longer to get better than the physical. Even then, he's sure to be left with lifelong scars—including ones that will affect him much more than any sort of superficial skin mark.

But while I understand all this and accept the reality, I'm not as sure about us being able to overcome it. I can't imagine ever _not_ loving Edward, yet there's no guarantee that a relationship with him will last, whether it's just friendship or something more.

After all, we're both still really young, and while I want to believe in ideas like soulmates and happily-ever-afters, my life is far from being a fairy tale. Good doesn't always triumph, and love isn't able to conquer all.

"Sometimes it doesn't work out, no matter how much we want it to."

The words are spoken so softly that I'm not sure if Carlisle meant to say them out loud.

"What was that?" I ask, surprised that our minds seem to be in a similar place again.

"Hmm?" Carlisle shifts his gaze to blink at me a few times. "Oh…I guess was just…thinking…"

His voice trails off, and he's quiet for so long that I figure he's not going to say anything else. But then—

"Did you know I used to be married?" he asks in a murmur. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead.

I angle my body toward him. "No," I reply, curious but wary about his dark tone.

"Liz and I were high school sweethearts. She played flute in band; I was on the soccer and baseball teams. We did typical teenage stuff together: movies, school dances, parties…we even had the cliché after-Prom, uh, experience."

Carlisle continues to stare straight ahead, which is a good thing. I'm sure the embarrassment I feel over his reference is obvious on my face. But my expression quickly becomes serious as he goes on with his story.

"We were really good about being safe, except for _one_ time. And that's all it took. Liz told me she was pregnant the day of graduation.

"Just like that, my whole life changed. But even though I gave up college to go straight to work—neither of our families had much money—I was excited about being a dad. We had a shotgun wedding a month later, and everything was pretty good…at first."

Carlisle pauses a moment to shift the truck's gear selector to _Park_ , and I realize we're now in his driveway. He scrubs a hand over his eyes and exhales a shuddering breath.

"I'll skip the painful details, but basically, we lost our little girl at five months. Liz suffered a placental abruption and had to undergo an emergency hysterectomy."

I gasp in shocked sadness.

"Both of us were devastated, but Liz…well, she became severely depressed. She pretty much shut down, and nothing I did seemed to help. I tried my best to be there for her, to support her, but to tell the truth, I probably made things worse. At the time, I wasn't much more than a young, dumb kid, and I had a hard time understanding why—after months of crying in bed—she couldn't at least _try_ to move on.

"Her parents finally convinced her to see a counselor, and though she improved a lot, she was never the same. And _we_ were never the same. About a year after our…after our daughter died…Liz told me she wanted a divorce."

He pauses to rub his face again.

"I'm so sorry," I tell him softly. "Especially about the baby."

The attempt at expressing my condolences sounds pathetic considering all he went through, but he thanks me anyway.

"Since then, I've thought a lot about everything that happened," he continues. "At first, I was resentful and angry at Liz. I felt like she hadn't tried hard enough to make our marriage work. I'm ashamed to say there even were times I thought she was weak and cowardly for letting the death affect her so much." Carlisle scoffs and shakes his head. "Of course, look at how I'm acting these days. I guess karma's finally caught up with me."

I'm surprised at the self-disgust mixed in with the pain on his face. Not knowing what to say but desperate to help, I tentatively reach out to touch his arm in consolation.

After a few tense seconds, his expression eases. He absently pats the back of my hand.

"Anyway, the point is that I came to realize Liz had to make the best choice for _her_. And to be honest, she probably saved us from months or even years of a doomed relationship. In high school, we were caught up in young love, and after that, unexpected life circumstances kept us together for a while. If she hadn't gotten pregnant, would we have stayed a couple through college, gotten married at some point? I'm not sure, but I have my doubts. We both needed the time to discover ourselves as adults that we didn't get because of the pregnancy and hurried wedding. Looking back, I can see that our personalities were very different, and we didn't have many interests in common. So although we'd been through a lot—both good times and bad—it wasn't enough for us to build a future together."

I'd been listening sympathetically until his words start hitting a little too close to home for comfort. I glance at Carlisle in suspicion, wondering if this is his way of giving me unsolicited advice. He must catch my wary look because he sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair.

"Cynthia mentioned she's seen some tension between you and Edward lately, and you implied that there was a disagreement this evening. I know I haven't really been, uh, 'with it' since Esme p-passed, but that doesn't excuse the way I basically abandoned you, Edward, and Mary Alice. You all were suffering, too, and I wasn't able to see past my own pain. I'm so, so sorry for that. Ashamed, too. I know nothing can make up for what I did, but I promise to be better."

"Really, Carlisle, you don't need to apologize," I insist. "I don't blame you for anything, and neither does Edward. We totally understood." And because I feel strange listening to someone like Carlisle being so harsh on himself, I try to lighten things up a little. "Edward and I weren't mad at you, but you're on your own when it comes to Merr."

Like I'd hoped, he cracks a small smile as some of the tension in his body disappears. However, his mood turns solemn when he angles his body toward me.

"Well, what I'm trying to say is that I care, and I'm here if you ever want to talk. It's impossible to compare situations, but I do know something about loss and how it can affect a relationship."

I nod and am quiet for a few moments, turning everything over in my head.

"So…do you think Edward and I are like you and Liz?" I have to force the questions out through a constricting heaviness in my throat. "Do you think we're doomed to fail?"

"No, not at all," Carlisle insists with a vigorous shake of his head. "I just wonder if it might be good idea to step back for a little while, so each of you can take time to concentrate on yourself. I hope that, finally, you and Edward are in safe environments where your only jobs are to enjoy being a teenager and dream about what kind of future you want to have. Maybe even start working toward it. There's so much out there for you, and I'd hate to see you limited or held back somehow."

A ripple of anger shivers through me. "Are you saying that Edward's holding me back? That's pretty harsh, don't you think? Aren't you supposed to be on his side, too? Or do you not want me in a relationship with anyone? I'm pretty sure having boyfriend issues is part of being the 'normal' teen you think I should be."

By the end, my voice has taken on a sarcastic, huffy tone. I'm probably overreacting, but my emotions have been on a Tilt-a-Whirl ride all evening. Right now, almost everything has the potential to set me off.

Carlisle doesn't take the bait. Instead, he fixes kind, compassionate eyes on me. "You've been through so much, Bella, yet you constantly amaze me with your strength. I just…I want things to be easy for you from here on out."

And now I feel the tears start to gather.

"Come on," he says, patting my hand again. "Let's go inside."

The frigid air outside stings my cheeks, and I make a mad dash for the house. The only thing I want at the moment is to put on my warmest sweats, crawl into bed, and put this crappy day behind me.

My hand is on the door to the basement when Carlisle clears his throat, sounding a little nervous.

"I know when it comes down to it, what goes on between you and Edward is none of my business. It's just, well, sometimes I look at you and think that if my daughter had lived, I'd be very proud for her to be anything like you. Actually, she'd be about your age now. I guess that's part of the reason I've felt so…protective of you."

I can't help myself. The tears spill over as I hug him tightly. He returns the embrace, and I stay there for a while, letting the feelings of safety and warmth wash over me. Not once in my life had I ever wished to have father figure around—or even wanted to find out my real dad's name—but now I see what it's all about. I'm half afraid to let go of Carlisle just in case I never have a moment like this again.

Eventually, he lets out a shaky breath and squeezes me a final time. We step back and exchange a smile that's only the littlest bit awkward. Then, glancing at his watch, Carlisle sighs.

"I gave Edward until midnight to get home and told him to call if he needed a ride. It's only ten-thirty, so I think I'm going to grab a quick nap on the couch. Cynthia's dropping off Mary Alice early tomorrow, and I need my reflexes to be as sharp as possible." He chuckles fondly. "Apparently, Merr's going through some sort of daredevil climbing phase."

I want to smile at the thought of Mary Alice, but my face is stuck in the scowl that appeared when Edward was mentioned. It doesn't help that I'm reminded about his choice to stay out with his friends instead of coming back with me.

Carlisle seems to understand my sudden attitude shift. He doesn't comment as I trudge downstairs in a huff after a mumbled goodnight.

Less than ten minutes later, I'm under the blanket on the pull-out bed, grinding my teeth together, trying my best not to think about anything—especially not about Edward or what he might be doing...or how I'm going to react when I see him in the morning...or just _us_ in general. Mentally, I'm exhausted. If emotions were physical things, mine would look like they just went ten rounds in a boxing ring.

But despite the tired head, my body can't seem to relax. I toss and turn for what feels like forever until finally falling into a fitful sleep.

My dreams come and go like someone is randomly clicking on video clips of my life. One moment, I'm pushing a crayon drawing through the hole in the fence at Edward's old house, then Cynthia and Rosalie are teaching me their favorite recipes. A drunk Mama gives a handful of wrinkled bills and a grocery list to a ten-year-old me, and Edward kisses my cheek for the first time. Edward clutches my hand after Esme's fall down the basement stairs. He groans in my ear as he pulls me into him at the pizzeria…he climbs under the bed covers and begins kissing my neck, my jaw, my mouth…he smells like the outdoors…tastes like alcohol…

My eyes fly open when a hand grabs my breast and squeezes. I can't see much in the darkness, but I'm certain it's _his_ lips working urgently against my own, his long body pressed along my side. Asleep or awake, I'll always be able to recognize the feel of him.

My response is immediate and instinctive. I turn into him, my leg hooking over his hip, and return the kiss with just as much enthusiasm. There are no thoughts in my mind—just a strange, intense feeling that is driving me to act. It's a both the aching pressure of fullness and an uncomfortable emptiness. A pull and a push. The desire to consume and the need to burst open.

And it's in firmly in control.

I slide up and down his thigh, desperate for relief. What kind it is and how I get it doesn't matter.

But when a short, strangled cry sounds from his throat as I rub over him, it somehow manages to cut through the thick fog that's making me stupid with desire. I'm not sure why his reaction causes me to jerk away with a gasp. Maybe it's because my earlier anger was strong enough to plant a lingering pettiness in my subconscious, and that stubborn grudge is shouting that Edward Masen doesn't deserve to feel good right now.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in a low, harsh low voice.

Unfortunately, my tone isn't as severe as I'd like because I'm trying to catch my breath.

Either he doesn't hear my question or is ignoring it because his hands reach out, searching to find me again. My eyes have adjusted, and I can see well enough to tell that his are closed.

"Why did you move away?" Edward asks, tripping slightly over his words and sounding bewildered. "C'mere so we can do this. I need to do this."

He manages to get a hold of my sweatshirt, but I rip it out of his grasp before he can pull me closer.

"Exactly what is it you think you need to do?" I demand, moving to the end of the mattress and sitting up.

His eyes crack open and blink repeatedly, trying to make sense of the blackness. Slow and unsteady, he pushes up onto his hands and knees.

"I hafta touch you first. That's what they said. Touch your t-tits and…s-suck on them. And then I'm su'sposed to go down to…rub and make little circles and put my fingers up your p—"

"Edward!" I gasp, shoving a pillow in his face to shut him up. I'm shocked, mortified, and turned on all at once.

And I'm mad.

Pissed, even.

"Who exactly was it that told you what you were 'supposed' to do? Grant? Kevin? Lemme guess… _Cole_? And was this before or after you got drunk?"

"Bella, please…" Edward lurches toward me and almost falls on his face. "I need to…have to…or else…"

"Or else what? They won't let you into the cool kids' club if you don't feel me up? Or do we have to go all the way so you can brag to your buddies?" My hands are clenched into fists, and I'm practically spitting. I force myself to take a deep breath before continuing. "Maybe Carlisle was right. Maybe we need to figure ourselves out before trying to make a relationship work, take some time away from each other to—"

"No!" Edward cries out, throwing his arms around me. His momentum knocks us both down onto the bed. Shaking all over, he squeezes me tight and buries his head in my chest. "You can't leave me, Bella…you just can't. You're all I have left, and I won't be able to stand it if I lose you."

He's heavy on top of me—practically a dead weight. I try to wiggle away, but his arms have me trapped.

"You're not gonna lose me," I say as soothingly as I can under the circumstances. "I'm not talking about forever. We just need to—"

"I've been trying so hard," he murmurs, talking over me like I'm not even here. "Trying to fit in, be normal…be good enough for you. But I couldn't do it right! I couldn't be what you wanted."

"What are you talking about? You _are_ good enough for me. You're amazing. It's just that— _oof_!" The wind is forced out of my lungs as Edward tightens his embrace. "Ow, jeez…can we sit up? You're hurting me a little."

"Obviously I'm not good enough," he continues sadly, not easing his hold but at least giving me a hint that he's hearing some of my words. "Why else would you wear those clothes? Talk to other men? Laugh and joke and _touch_ them? Either you're looking for someone else, or you're trying to tell me that I'm not taking care of you the right way."

"You're kidding, right? That's—"

"I _have_ to fix this! You need more from me. Things that you…that _we_ shouldn't want. Immoral things. That's wh—…dad told me…but if you're wrong, then he's right…he's _not_ …then you're not wrong…other guys do it…their girls…normal…want to be normal…can't lose you."

He's practically sobbing now, and it's gotten even harder to understand his muffled voice. I'm torn between comforting him and telling him off.

"Edward!" I say a little more forcefully. "You need to calm down. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Now let me up, and we'll talk about it."

He pushes his head harder into my chest and shakes it back and forth.

"No," he moans, "You want to leave me. It's that other guy, isn't it? Eric, right? You didn't know I saw his name and phone number on your hand…but I did! He's trying to take you from me. But you can't let him. You're _mine_ , Bella. It's always been us, and I need you…forever."

He suddenly raises his head to look at me. No, he looks _through_ me. His eyes are glazed with tears; his pupils huge. The smell of alcohol is stronger than ever.

" _That's_ the answer. The guys are right," he declares reverently, speaking slower but still slurring. "They're right, you're right…and even the Gospel…it's all the same!"

Before I can even think about what that's supposed to mean, his lips come down hard on mine. He had slid up my body to align our mouths, and my arms are now free. But I don't move right away. I'm too shocked by his sudden fervor.

"Wha—…Edw—…mmf…" My dazed attempt at words is swallowed up by his mouth.

"Exodus 22:16-17," he mumbles happily between kisses. "'And if a man entice a maid that is not betrothed…and lie with her…he shall surely endow her…to be his…wife.'"

" _What?_ " I gasp, pushing on his chest to free my lips. "Are you insane? I know you can't be talking about us. I mean, no offense, but _you_ , a man? You're barely a teenager! And by 'lie,' I'm guessing you mean in the Biblical sense? Ha! Not a chance. No friggin' way is _that_ happening now, especially with you being drunk out of your mind!" I heave on his chest again. "Get the hell off me!"

I might as well be pushing on a brick wall.

"No, Bella, no. We _have_ to do this. Don't you see?" He grabs my hands and holds them down on either side of my head. His lips go to my neck. "Sure, the wedding stuff will wait until we'll old enough, but this way, you'll always be mine. We'll be bound to each other in the eyes of God, and then I can stop worrying so much. And you can stop dressing up and seeking the company of other men."

I'm speechless.

Completely and utterly dumbfounded.

Despite everything he's said, I haven't been able to believe he's actually serious until now, when he gathers my wrists above my head in one of his hands and reaches down with the other to unbutton his jeans. The first jolt of fear flashes through my body.

Is he really trying to have sex with me?

I think I was able to follow his twisted logic, but the problem is that he started out with some very messed-up assumptions. We've never talked about the physical side of our relationship, yet he's apparently decided on his own that it's a major, immediate need of mine. He also has it in his head that I'm looking for other guys because he won't put out.

It's almost unbelievable.

How could he have gotten it so wrong?

Yes, sex with him is something I think about, something I do want…one day.

But definitely not _now_.

And definitely not like this.

To make matters worse—if that's even possible—I don't think he wants it to happen this way, either. I've seen firsthand how alcohol can affect people. In a few hours, I'm pretty sure his mind will be in a completely different place. He'll realize what a terrible, irreversible mistake he's making, and he'll regret it.

At least, I _think_ he would regret it, regret forcing me.

I desperately hope so, because otherwise…well, the alternative is just too horrible to consider.

And regardless, one thing's for sure: I'm not going to risk the chance of finding out.

I start to struggle harder, making an honest effort to break free. Still, I'm holding back, trying to do the absolute minimum to get out of the situation without hurting him. I'm desperately hoping he'll come to his senses and stop before I have to fight in earnest.

But Edward seems to be set on his course and convinced that he's doing the right thing. In fact, he sounds confused over my resistance.

"What are you doing, Bella?" he asks, breathing heavily in my ear. "Is this what the guys meant about role play? Or is it where we're being rough with each other on purpose? They told me so much…I can't remember it all…I want to be good for you…"

He continues to act as if he can't hear my increasingly loud pleas to let me go. I hadn't wanted to yell for Carlisle, but the terrifying truth is starting to sink in.

Edward's not going to stop.

His free hand begins to push down my flannel pajama pants.

I can't wait any longer.

"No, don't!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Carlisle! Help me!"

Edward's lying between my legs, and so far, my attempts to kick him with my heels haven't gotten his attention. His hips pin my own to the mattress, and I'm not able to twist my body. The only thing I can do is thrash my head back and forth to avoid his sloppy kisses.

I guess that distracts him because he momentarily gives up fumbling with my waistband to grab at my chin and hold it still.

"I could keep kissing you forever," he pants against my lips. "You always taste so _good_."

My teeth are clenched against his repeated attempts to thrust his tongue in my mouth, but then inspiration hits. I relax my jaw and wait. Almost immediately, he pushes inside as far as possible.

And I bite down.

Hard.

His surprised shriek of pain is deafening at such a close range. He jerks away from me, and I almost don't let him go. I can't say for sure why I loosen my hold on his tongue, instead of trying to bite the damned thing off.

Part of me certainly wants to.

The rest of me—apparently the snap decision-making part—sends my body scrambling off the pull-out bed and to the far corner of the room. I grab the first thing I see that could serve as a weapon. It turns out to be a decorative bronze lantern.

Edward's now sitting on the bed, his hand raised to his face. Though I see his general outline from the dim light of my alarm clock on the end table, it's impossible to make out his expression. I can't decide whether that's a good thing or not. Reality seems further away in the ambiguity of darkness.

There's a floor lamp within a step's distance of my position, and my need for the perceived safety of light wins out. With violently shaking fingers, I turn on the lamp. Soft yellowish light floods the room.

The drastic change in brightness comes as a shock. I shield my eyes and blink rapidly, desperate to be free of the temporary blindness. Knowing I'm especially vulnerable now, I crouch down and raise my arms to protect my head.

When my vision finally adjusts, I gasp loudly, almost choking on my shock. I knew the bite must have hurt him, but I wasn't prepared to see the large smear of blood covering his mouth, chin, and fingers. Confirming the injury is bad enough, but knowing that I'm the one that caused it—and why I did—it's too much for me to handle.

"Edward…"

My voice is barely a whisper, broken and hoarse from screaming.

He doesn't seem to have heard me; it must be a theme for the night. But his eyes, though bloodshot and still dilated, look slightly less glassy than before. They study my appearance in stunned confusion.

"Why did you do that? And why…why are you crying? "

His tongue must be beginning to swell because, in addition to slurring, he sounds like his mouth is full of cotton. This seems to come as a surprise to him. His hand flies back to his mouth, and he parts his lips as if to touch his tongue. But then a wince twists his features. He pulls his fingers away to gape at them.

"There's blood," he says slowly. "I'm...bleeding. I'm bleeding because you…you… _bit_ me." His eyes widen and find their way back to my face. "Why did you…?"

An almost maniacal laugh escapes my lips.

"Why?" I shriek, tightening my grip on the lantern weapon. "You're sitting there asking me _why_ I bit you? Well, hmm, lemme think: maybe it was because you were _forcing yourself on me_! Edward, you held me down and hurt me! And then...then you…oh God, you tried to…to…"

I can't finish the sentence and instead break down into sobs.

"What?" he cries. "No! That's not true. I only wanted to…because you wanted…because they told me…" He groans and grabs his head in his hands. "What's going on? I can't think. Everything's so…fuzzy. It hurts."

"That's what happens when you drink too much!" I yell through my tears. "You get drunk and do stupid, sometimes horrible, things and feel like crap the next day! What else did you expect?"

"But it wasn't…I only had two or three…maybe four…I think…"

"It doesn't matter how many you think you had, it only matters what you did because of them! Like…what you d-did just now…to me…" That all-consuming fear squeezes my chest, and I'm close to losing it again. I pull my arms in closer to my body to try to control their shaking. "I can't do this. You need to g-go. Go upstairs and stay there. S-stay away from me."

"No, please!" Edward shouts, his tone taking on a frantic edge. "We need to talk some more! I still don't get what happened. I was just trying to give you what you wanted so you wouldn't leave me! I was trying to show you how much I care! But if I did something wrong, tell me how to fix it. I promise I'll do better! Just give me another chance, Bella." Tiny droplets of blood spray from his mouth as he begs. "I'll do anything! _Please_."

I stare at him, incredulous.

"I not sure what's worse," I say in a thunderstruck whisper. "That you might be lying about not knowing what you did wrong...or that you really don't understand."

"I'm not…I don't…"

He doubles over in obvious pain and groans, his hands still clutching his head.

Something twists in my chest. Even after what he tried to do, I hate to see him hurt.

"Take some Advil with water and go to bed," I sigh, feeling bone-deep weariness and defeat. "We both need time, and I—"

"No, no…I can't leave," he mutters, shifting forward on the mattress. "I need you to help me…I can't do it without you…please…"

My heart beats faster as he stands up in a hunched over position, one hand pressed against his temple and the other now holding his stomach. He takes an unbalanced step toward me, and my whole body tenses.

"Stay there!" I cry, hating the sound of fear thick in my voice. "Don't come any closer."

"Bella, I need you…"

He takes another step.

"Don't! I'm not kidding!" I raise the lantern high in warning as my gaze darts to the stairs located behind him. Would I be able to make it by safely? The alcohol has clearly slowed his reflexes, but I'm no track star.

For some reason, the improvised weapon I'm brandishing makes more sense to him than anything else I've said or done. He stares fixedly at it, his arms falling limply to his sides.

"Oh God," he whispers, horrified. "Oh no…no no _no_."

His eyes find mine, and after one long moment of sharply suffocating clarity, he shuffles backward to sink down on the edge of the mattress.

"You're _afraid_ of me," he exhales in tortured wonder. His gaze turns blank and lowers to the floor. "I've made you afraid…of _me_. Wh-what have I done? How could this have happened? What if...maybe…maybe I _am_ like my dad. I—...oh God, please no..." His expression is more anguished than I've ever seen. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It wasn't supposed to be like this! I just wanted to show you…" He lets out a trembling breath, his shoulders sagging from the weight of his emotion. "Bella, I love you. Everything's all screwed up, but I love you so much. I—"

The rest of his words are cut off from my hearing as I drop the lantern to the floor and slam my hands over my ears.

"No—shut up!" I yell. "I don't want to hear that. Just shut up!"

His unexpected declaration is too much. I feel like the last bit of control I'm clinging to is about to shatter and destroy everything around it.

But then there's the sound of the front door opening upstairs and the unmistakable jangle of keys.

Help has arrived.

The overwhelming relief I feel is the thing that finally breaks me.

"Carlisle!" I scream at the top of my lungs, sprinting for the stairs, tears streaming down my face.

Dimly, I hear Edward calling after me, but I don't stop running.

And even after I've thrown myself into the arms of a very worried Carlisle, I want to keep running.

I want to keep running and never look back.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

* * *

"…don't care! I need to see her myself!"

The shrill voice prickles my ears as I flounder about in a shadowed, dreamless sleep. I try to pull myself out of unconsciousness, but it feels like blackness is a heavy weight pressing all around and smothering my body.

"…will _not_ calm down! Carlisle Cullen, you'd better step away from that door, or so help me, I'll go right through you."

There's a low buzz of words that I can't make out and then the sound of hinges creaking. Light but hurried footsteps get closer until they stop beside me. A cool hand passes across my forehead and caresses my cheek.

"Oh, my poor dear girl."

The voice belongs to Cynthia, and she sounds upset. In some dim corner of my mind, I hope whatever she's worried about isn't too serious.

"Alright, you've seen her," Carlisle hisses from farther away. "Now come out before you wake her up. She only fell asleep a few hours ago and needs to rest."

More soft touches on my face, my hair, my hand.

"I know, but I feel like someone should stay with her. She shouldn't be alone."

"We'll be right outside the door; I'll even leave it cracked open if you want. But we really need to talk before they get up."

More footsteps, retreating this time. I make an effort to open my eyes, but they refuse to cooperate. It feels like they're swollen shut.

Carlisle and Cynthia must literally be right outside the door because I can hear them easily, even though they're speaking in low voices. Sleep is calling to me again, but I do my best to fight it off. My brain isn't working well enough yet to understand why it's a good idea to listen in on the conversation; I just know I should.

"So, what happened, exactly? He attacked her?" Cynthia's tone is both horrified and incredulous.

Carlisle's is frustrated, distressed. "That's what it sounded like to me, but it was hard to get much from either of them. She was completely hysterical, and he wasn't much better—though he passed out soon after I got back."

"Passed out? From what? Maybe you better start from the beginning."

There's a long sigh, and then a deep breath.

"You know how the big basketball game was tonight? Well, afterward, they went to eat with some friends…"

A fuzzy image consolidates out of the fog in my head.

A memory of me at a basketball game. Edward was there, too. Hickory High won. People celebrated all around me.

The cheers of the crowd fade away, and Carlisle's voice can be heard again.

"...midnight came and went, and he was a no-show. His phone went straight to voicemail, so I called Cole, who told me he'd left with Kevin and Grant…"

Cole. Kevin. Grant.

Those are Edward's friends.

A strange ripple of unease moves through my body, and I shift restlessly under the covers, still caught in that boggy space between sleep and wakefulness.

"…barely gotten in the door when I heard screaming from downstairs. She ran at me, shaking all over and crying so hard she could hardly get a word out. Then there was a crash on the stairs, and I heard him calling out for her. She practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice and hid behind me, saying 'no no no' over and over again. It didn't take much to figure out she wanted nothing to do with him. I took her into my room and convinced her that I'd keep him away. She didn't want me to go, but I said I'd lock the door behind me."

"How do you know he attacked her?" It's Cynthia again.

"I don't know for sure. Neither of them said it outright...but a few things lead me to believe that. Though he was very drunk and hard to understand, he kept asking if she was okay and repeating how sorry he was. By the time I took care of him and got him in his room, she'd fallen asleep on my bed. The first thing I noticed was how red and chafed her wrists were, like they'd been restrained somehow. She had red marks on her face, too—mostly around her mouth and chin…"

It's starting to make sense why Carlisle and Cynthia sound so upset. I feel bad for the girl, whoever she is. In fact, I seem to be so affected that my heart is pounding and sweat is forming on my skin.

"Oh my God, what in the world could have happened between them? Do you think he got upset and…hit her?"

There's a pause. In the silence, my pulse sounds like thunder. I want to jump off the bed and run, but my body still won't obey me. I'm anxious and afraid to hear Carlisle's response.

"Keep in mind I'm only guessing here," he finally murmurs, pained reluctance in his voice. "I don't know if she's been hurt anywhere else, but, well, there's another thing. When I helped him to bed...I noticed that his pants were undone and partially pulled down."

Cynthia gasps. "No…you don't think that he—? He couldn't have…I can't believe that he would…oh God, no…"

There's a rushing in my ears now; a torrential downpour to go with the crashing thunder. Paralyzed and unable to swim, I'm drowning in the cold, stinging rain. Carlisle and Cynthia's voices are distorted and far away as if I'm hearing them underwater.

"…not jump to any conclusions…talk to both of them…sober up…"

"…might need medical care…examined and checked over…evidence…call Renee…"

"…get her story first…rather talk to a female…I'll go check on him…keep him away…"

Their words begin to fade, and this time, I let them go. They only bring confusion and pain. It felt so much better before, when my world was asleep and quiet. I want to go back to that place.

But before I slip completely under, before I can fall away into happy nothingness, Cynthia's soft soprano is in my ear, flitting in and out of the black like a determined hummingbird. I'd like to swat it away.

"…talk to you, honey…wake up…just a few questions…"

I try to ignore the buzzing, but it gets louder, more insistent.

"Come on, Bella, wake up. I know you're tired, but there are some things that are important for me to know."

Her urgency is real. The "good girl" part of me wants to do whatever she asks, whatever will take away her worry. Instead, I retreat a little farther under covers. I'm just too exhausted to make any kind of effort.

But then she puts a hand on my shoulder.

My reaction is immediate, instinctive.

Lurching away from contact, I scream as every nerve in my body fires to life. I curl into a shaking ball near the foot of the bed, my arms shielding my head, my eyes squeezing shut tighter than before. A jumble of words comes tripping out of my mouth, but I have no idea what I'm saying.

There are other sounds, too. They repeat over and over until a few slip through my paralyzing panic.

"…it's just me…I'm not going to hurt you…it's Cynthia…you're safe…"

"C-cee?" I whimper, feeling my hunched-over shoulders relax ever so slightly. I blink and squint through swollen lids at her outline, dark and blurry in the dimness around us. "Cee?"

"That's right, sweetie. It's just me…and no one else."

"No one…else?"

"Just you and me. We're in Carlisle's room, and the door is locked." A pause and a deep intake of breath. "How are you feeling? Does anything…hurt?"

Groggily, I force my body to uncoil and try to answer her questions.

"I-I think I'm okay," I rasp. "My throat's a little sore, though." I slowly stretch out my limbs. "Actually, I'm kinda sore all over. And my face feels weird."

"Weird how?"

I bring a tentative hand to my face and explore its surface. "My jaw—it aches. And my eyes are hot and puffy, like I was…crying." The haze begins to clear, and more fragments of memory rise out of the murkiness in my head. "I think…I think _was_ crying. Crying, and yelling, and running…because…because…"

My gasp is sudden, loud, a high-pitched strangled noise.

I'm remembering what happened. I'm remembering what he did—what he tried to do. What _I_ did to stop him.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

It hurts because, of all the people in the world—even my mama—Edward had become the one I cared most about.

And because, while there was a small part of me that always worried he _could_ do something like this to me, I never actually believed he _would_.

It's a terrible betrayal of my trust. Of my friendship. Of my love.

Cynthia must have some idea of the devastation inside me. "Oh Bella," she murmurs sadly, leaning forward and offering her arms.

I throw myself into her embrace as tears stream down my cheeks. She can see that I'm falling apart and hugs me tightly. My whole body heaves from the soul-shattering sobs that rip through me.

Scenes from the basement play over and over, some vividly sharp, others more like low resolution afterimages. I bury my face into Cynthia's shirt, wishing I could make the continuous reply stop, or—better yet—erase it altogether. I don't want to think about what happened, or how I can possibly move forward from here.

Time doesn't exist as my pent-up emotions pour out. And it's more than just a reaction to Edward's drunken behavior. It's all the stress and tragedy and just plain _shittiness_ that I've dealt with over my short fourteen years on earth.

Poverty, Mama's neglect, her drug abuse, Greg's attack, the whole horrible ordeal with Mr. Masen, losing Esme, my changing relationship Edward…it seems to be never-ending.

Therapy had helped to a point, but I'd never opened myself fully to the pain—not in life, and certainly not during the weekly forty-five minute sessions with a relative stranger. But the dam has finally burst, and I can't keep it all in any longer.

Cynthia holds me through the breakdown. She doesn't say anything; she simply gives her infinite support through steady arms and a warm presence. I'm not sure exactly how long she lets me soak her shirt with my tears, but eventually, my wailing cries subside and taper off into long shuddering sighs.

"Do you want me to get you something to drink?" she asks quietly after several minutes.

I'm thirsty but not ready to let her go, so I shake my head.

"Maybe later then." She drops a gentle kiss on the top of my head. "I know it's been one hell of a night for you so far, hon, but I think it would be good to talk a little bit about what happened if you're up to it."

I stiffen at her words and push my face farther into her chest, as though I can somehow hide from what she's asking.

"I know it'll be hard," she presses on, "but I just want to help. It's also important for me and Carlisle to get the basic facts so we can figure out what steps need to be taken."

I raise my head just enough that I can speak without being muffled. "Steps? What do you mean?"

"Well, before you fell asleep, Carlisle noticed that there were some, uh, marks on you. Can you tell me where they came from? Did…did Edward do that? Did he hurt you?"

My heart seems to stop in my chest for a second before taking off at a gallop. I'm bombarded with more conflicting emotions: fear, anger, embarrassment, sadness, worry...guilt. I know what Edward did was one hundred percent wrong, that it wasn't my fault. But despite everything, I can't stand the thought of him getting into trouble. If I tell the truth, that's sure to happen.

Cynthia sees my reluctance to answer and doesn't push the issue.

"Alright, we don't have to talk about that right now," she says gently. "But I'm still concerned about those marks…and the rest of you. You might feel you're physically okay, but I'd rather have a medical professional make sure. We can go to urgent care or maybe—"

"No!" I whisper-shout, moving away from her and wrapping my arms tightly around my knees. "I'm fine. I don't want to go to a doctor. I really am okay, I promise."

The room has lightened a little—it must be near dawn—and I can see the worried frustration on her face. But I can't agree to what she's suggesting. The last thing I want is to have some stranger poking around and looking me over, especially when I know it's not necessary.

However, Cynthia doesn't seem quite as willing to let it go this time. She stares at me for moment and then sighs.

"I hate to say this so bluntly, sweetie, but if you were assaulted, you really should see someone. You might have injuries you're not aware of. And, the longer you wait to take the morning-after pill, the less effective it is."

"What?" I yelp, my eyes wide. "I don't need… _that_. He didn't…I mean, there wasn't any…we've never…"

I can't seem to get the words out, but thankfully, Cynthia understands what I'm trying to say. Exhaling a huge breath of air, she nods and closes her eyes.

"I'm so glad to hear that," she says in a low voice, almost to herself. "It's bad enough he touched you at all, but the thought of him doing _that_ …"

She blows out another long breath and then opens her eyes to glance at Carlisle's bedside clock.

"It's still early. Since your mom got back from work only a few hours ago, Carlisle and I planned to wait a little and talk to you and Edward before calling her. But I'd be more than happy to take you home now, if you want."

"You're going to tell Mama?" I ask dazedly, feeling overwhelmed again. "I don't think that's such a good idea. She can, uh, overreact sometimes."

It doesn't help that she's never liked Edward and blames him for everything I went through with his dad.

Cynthia frowns at my response. "Bella, you're her daughter. She has a right to know what happened."

"Well, there's nothing to tell," I mutter, my mouth deciding on a course of action before my brain has a chance to think about it. " _Nothing_ happened. Nothing important, anyway."

This seems to stump Cynthia for a few seconds.

"That's a little hard to believe," she says carefully. "From what I understand, Edward had been trying to apologize to you. If he did something, he needs to face the consequences. You shouldn't try to protect him."

I hear what she's saying, but I can't help the way I feel. In my heart, in my very soul, I don't think Edward meant to hurt me. And while that's certainly no excuse or reason to let him off the hook, I'm worried about how badly he'd get in trouble and what that might mean for him. Would Mama tell the police? Would he be arrested? Could he be sent away from the Cullens?

"Nothing important happened," I tell her again, a little more strongly this time. "There was a… _misunderstanding_ , and we both got upset. That's it."

"Bella…"

"I said, that's _it_." I try to sound forceful, but my voice wavers. Tears that never really went away well up in my eyes. I shake my head and then crawl up the bed to get under the covers. "I'm tired," I mumble. "I just wanna go back to sleep. I didn't get very much of it, and I'm sure my mama hasn't, either. Please don't wake her up, okay?"

There's complete silence around us as she thinks it over. I wasn't kidding about being tired, and by the time she speaks again, I'm almost asleep.

"I want to do what's best for you, but I'm not sure what that is," she admits quietly, sadly. "I'll talk to Carlisle and see what he says, but I guess we can put off calling your mom for the next few hours. I won't make any promises about later on, though."

I hum a half-conscious approval. Later is good. I can handle later. Hopefully, when it comes, I'll be more rested and have a clearer head. I'll be better able to deal with my emotions and talk to people without wanting to cry or scream or hide.

Cynthia tugs the bedspread up a little higher around my shoulders and gives me a kiss on the temple.

"Sleep well, hon. I'll be right outside your room if you need me." She smoothes the hair away from my forehead. "We're going to get through this, I promise."

I'm out cold before she makes it through the door.

My dreams are strange—a mishmash of people and places that don't seem to go together in any logical way. I watch the scenes from a quiet space inside my head and don't even bother trying to make sense of it. I'm just along for the ride.

It's almost eleven when a loud thud wakes me up.

Daylight streams through the window. Squinting and blinking, I try to get my bearings as I sit up against the headboard of Carlisle's queen-sized bed. My body is still sore, of course, and I wince at the reason why.

And speaking of _him_ , I'm pretty sure Edward was the one who caused the thudding noise in the hallway. Muted groans had followed the sound, along with the creak of the bathroom door. Water begins to run; it seems he's taking a shower.

The idea of a shower sounds good to me, too—especially before I face whatever the rest of the day is to bring. Carlisle's bedroom has an attached bathroom, but my overnight bag is downstairs, my clothes are kept in Mary Alice's room, and my shower things are in the guest bathroom.

If last night hadn't happened, I'd probably giggle at the thought of asking Edward to pass my shampoo and conditioner from behind the curtain. Knowing how he freaks out over stuff like that, I never would've actually done it, of course, but at least I'd have fun imagining the scenario. I'm sure I would've gotten butterflies in my stomach wondering what he looks like naked.

I don't have any desire to laugh now. However, that has more to do with my general mood, not the nature of Edward's actions. Maybe I'm strange, maybe I'm not having the "right" sort of feelings after the fact, but I think I'm more traumatized about the control aspect—Edward losing so much of his own that he could forcibly take mine—than the sex part. It scared me on the most basic level, and I can't ever let that happen again.

I draw my knees up to my chest and moan into my legs. Even with sleep, I'm still confused and unsure. Every time I want to get mad at Edward, my brain spits out all these reasons why I should cut him some slack. Psycho dad, abusive and sheltered childhood, dead mama, new school, new friends, peer pressure, teenage boy hormones, alcohol...with that much against him, it's not hard to see how things went to hell, especially after our argument at Primo Pizzeria.

So where to go from here? It'd be fairy-tale great if we could get past this, leave it all behind—or better yet, learn from what happened so that it never does again. But something was broken last night, something was lost forever. I'd had an innocent, naïve trust in Edward, in our friendship, and he changed all that when his drunken self didn't listen to my cries to stop. I'm not sure if he can earn that trust back, but if it _is_ possible, it certainly won't be easy.

The question is: do I even want to give him the chance?

Our relationship has never been easy. When we were younger, it was because of our messed up lives and the physical barrier between us. But now, it's more about us as people—who we are and who we want to become.

Edward told me he wants to be "normal" teenager. To him, that means hanging out with a large group of friends and going to parties. He wants to play on the soccer team, wear school colors to events, be accepted.

And that's great. There's not a single thing wrong with that sort of high school experience.

For others.

I don't fit into that scene. I've never been Miss Popular, never had a lot of friends, and I'm perfectly okay with that. In fact, spending time with Edward's new gang over the past few weeks as made me more sure than ever.

The memory of his on-and-off indifference causes tears sting my eyes again. With all the crying I've done, I'm surprised I have any left. My sweatpants absorb the moisture as I wipe my face on my legs.

It hurts to admit that Edward and I are growing apart. But then, why were we ever together? Do we not have much in common outside of tragedy? Did we only turn to each other because there was no one else?

Maybe all Edward did last night was hasten an inevitable end of our friendship.

The thought stabs me like a knife in the heart. I've never really imagined the future much beyond a few weeks, months at the most, but it's hard for me comprehend a time when Edward isn't part of my life somehow. Even when we had arguments and stopped meeting at the fence, he was still my next-door neighbor. In some form or another, whether I wanted it to or not, his wellbeing always stayed on my mind. It still does.

It's not something I can just turn off.

I care so much about him—heck, I _love_ him—and it hurts to think of losing him as a friend. My best friend.

Fighting back that very familiar feeling of being overwhelmed, I shake my head hard and let my legs fall flat on the bed. While I may have the urge to lie around all day and cry my eyes out, that's not going to help anything. I could use a shower, my stomach is whining for food, and at some point, I'm going to have to face Edward. There's no reason to put off any of those things.

My feet have just touched the floor when there's a soft knock on the bedroom door. It opens slowly, and Carlisle pokes his head inside.

"Ah, you're awake. I thought I'd check in on you to see how you were doing or if you needed anything." His expression is warm and kind.

"Actually, I was going to get some breakfast…or lunch, I guess."

Carlisle nods his head. "What would you like? I'll bring it in for you."

"That's okay," I tell him, carefully rising to my feet. "I'm on it." I stretch up tall and twist from side to side. Despite the general achiness, it feels good to get the blood flowing again.

I walk to the bedroom door, but Carlisle is slow to move aside.

"Are you sure you don't want me to bring it to you?" he asks, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "It's just that, well, Edward only now woke up. I was going to take him over to Cee's house so you didn't have to…you know…see him or anything."

"No, it's fine," I say determinedly, keeping my emotions tightly locked down. "He and I need to talk, anyway."

Carlisle's eyes widen. "Are you sure you want to do that right now, though? Maybe it would be better if you waited a little while…gave yourself a bit more time."

"I think waiting will only make things worse," I sigh.

He looks dubious but does stand aside to let me pass.

I walk down the short hallway to the living room. Cynthia steps out from the kitchen holding the small trash can from Edward's room. It has a new bag inside; I wonder if he threw up in it at some point. The vindictive part inside me chuckles evilly.

"Bella!" Cynthia exclaims in surprise. "Did you want me to take you home now?" She glances in the direction of the guest bathroom. "Uh...why don't you go ahead and wait in the car? I'll gather up your things and meet you there."

What follows is a short exchange very similar to the one I just had with Carlisle. And like him, she gives me a skeptical look but doesn't argue.

I'm thrilled to find two plates of pancakes and bacon waiting in the refrigerator. After zapping one of them for a minute in the microwave, I eagerly scarf down the food. Cynthia pours me a glass of orange juice and sits down beside me. As I eat, she skims through a magazine, though I doubt she's actually paying attention to it. There's an awkward silence between us, which somehow makes the sounds outside the kitchen seem louder than normal. Carlisle is easily heard when he taps on the bathroom door.

"Everything okay in there, Edward?"

"I guess," comes the muffled reply.

The door creaks open, and it's quiet for a few moments before Edward speaks in a low, pained voice.

"About last night…I don't, uh, remember much, but…is Bella okay?"

"Well, I guess that depends on your definition of okay." Underneath Carlisle's even tone is a steely mix of disappointment and anger I've never heard from him before. "She _claims_ to be fine, physically at least."

"Ugh," I groan, pausing in the middle of my pancakes. "I really am fine, people," I mutter to myself.

Cynthia doesn't say anything; she just gives me some sort of strange smile-grimace. I roll my eyes and turn back to the food.

"…she's in the kitchen with Cee," I hear Carlisle continue. "But before you see her, we need to talk. Let's go to your room."

Protective instincts spurring me on, I jump out of my chair to follow them. Edward might say something to incriminate himself—like the truth, for instance—and I want to make sure that doesn't happen.

Cynthia stretches out her arm in front of me.

"Bella," she admonishes, shaking her head. "It's between Carlisle and Edward. You'll be able to talk to him soon enough."

But soon enough seems to take forever. I'm able to finish eating, shower, put clean sheets on Carlisle's bed, and flip through all the channels on the TV at least five times before the door to Edward's room opens again.

I spin around on the couch, my gaze glued to the hallway entrance from where he should emerge. All the waiting has made me anxious, and the orange juice suddenly isn't playing nicely with the bacon and pancakes in my stomach. I take a deep breath in an effort to calm my nerves.

It helps. A little.

I hear the dull thud of footsteps getting louder, and then his tall, lanky frame is filling the opening. Carlisle steps out behind Edward, glances at me, and sighs.

"He wants to talk to you alone," the blond-haired man says with the faintest of scowls. "I'd rather have one of us be there, but I'll leave the decision up to you, Bella."

I stare at Edward, trying to meet his eyes, but his head is bowed. So, I take the opportunity to look him over, to take stock of my feelings about seeing him for the first time since I ran from the basement. It's slightly surprising to me that the emotion I feel the strongest is anger. I thought it would mainly be fear or sadness—possibly both.

But no, it's most definitely anger.

I think of last night, of how he got so drunk that he held me down, lay on me, and either didn't listen to or didn't understand my pleas to stop. I think of earlier that evening, when he got possessive, acted hostile toward Eric, and spewed his dad's beliefs at me. I think of how he's become increasingly distant and selfish over the previous five weeks.

And I see red.

My heart starts beating faster, and my hands clench into fists. I want to hit him. I want to throw things at him and yell as loud as I can and make him cry.

I want to hurt him as much as he hurt me.

I want him to suffer.

But then he lifts his head and looks at me.

And I see that is already is.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for sticking with the story! I've got part of the next chapter written, so hopefully it won't be as long until the next update...**


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

* * *

Haunted. Grief-stricken. Lost.

Edward's expression looks as pained as I've ever seen it, including on the day of Esme's funeral.

His face is pale, and his hair sticks out in every direction as if he's been pulling on it. There are dark hollows under his red-rimmed eyes, which somehow manage to be swimming with emotion and flat at the same time. He can only hold my gaze for a moment, and then he chokes back a sob, his chin falling to his chest. Tears leak out from behind tightly closed lids.

I have to look away or I'll start to feel sorry for him. I can't let that happen. Not this time.

Carlisle puts a hand on Edward's elbow and guides him over to an armchair on the other side of the room from where I'm sitting.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" the weary blond man asks me again. "You don't owe anything to anyone, especially him."

Edward cringes at the thinly-veiled reproach.

I let out a long, trembling sigh. "I know. But it's got to happen at some point. I just want to get it over with."

Carlisle stares at me for several seconds before answering. "Alright," he says at last. "Cee and I will wait in the kitchen. We won't be trying to listen in, but if you need one of us, all you have to do is speak up." His gaze shifts to Edward, who is hunched over in his seat, his hands covering his face. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes to see how things are going."

I barely notice when he leaves the room; my attention is on the one who managed to turn my world upside down overnight. It's weird how he seems so young and lost and defeated after what he did. My conflicted emotions are fighting more than ever, and I have no idea how to begin the conversation.

Edward does it for me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the floor, not able to look at me. "I'm so, _so_ sorry."

His voice is breathy and rough, like wind through dry leaves. The words hang in the space between us as I try to figure out how to respond.

First things first, I guess.

"How, Edward?" I ask dully. " _How_ could you do that to me? How could you think it was okay?"

"I-I don't know!" he cries, grabbing at his hair and pulling hard. "Everything in my head was spinning around, and there's so much I can't remember..."

"Huh, imagine that," I reply, letting sarcasm warm my monotone inflection. "You know, lots of guys get trashed all the time, but you don't see _them_ trying to r—" My throat closes. I swallow angrily and try again. "They're not forcing themselves on someone else like you did. You'll have to come up with a better excuse than being drunk."

"I can't…I don't…there isn't any excuse!"

He looks like he's about to fall apart any second. I understand that feeling—really, I do—but am tired of the burning eyes and stuffy nose. Now's the time for answers. Shaking my head in frustration, I grit my teeth and blow a gust of air out through my lips.

"Why were you even drinking in the first place? No, wait...go back further than that." If we talk about the worst things he did right away, there's a good chance I'll be too upset to find out the whole story.

"Let's start with what happened at Primo's. The jealousy and the stuff you said about my clothes—you realize I'll never be okay with that, right? I meant it when I told you I'm not like the women and girls at your church who wear long skirts and keep quiet and always let the men be in charge. Is that what you want? The way you were going off last night about me dressing like a slut and making you look bad—do you really feel like that? Or did you just say that stuff because you've heard it from your dad...er, _Mr. Masen_...so many times before...?"

"No, of course I don't really think those things!" Edward replies quickly.

Almost…too quickly.

Eyes narrowed in doubt, I study his desperate, panicked expression. Right now, he'd probably agree with anything I said. But it won't help matters if he can't be honest with me—or with himself.

I need to dig deeper.

"How do I know you really mean that? Tell me why it was such a big deal last night when you never talked to me about it before," I demand. "Yeah, you've always been a little possessive—which is actually kind of nice in _small_ doses—but you looked like you were about to start a fight with Eric right there in front the restaurant!" I pause for a second when I hear how loud I'm getting. After taking a deep breath, I continue at a lower volume. "And what about your problems with my clothes? That came out of nowhere. Has all this been building up for you, or did something randomly set you off...?"

"Well, I…I…" Edward's fingers dig into his thighs as his gaze becomes unfocused. He goes quiet for a long minute, just staring at his hands on his legs. Every so often, his mouth opens and closes like he's trying to tell me something but isn't able to make the words come out.

"What is it?" I probe when the silence gets to be too much. "Just tell me already. I need to know what the _hell_ was going on with you."

His responding mumble is so low that I can't understand it.

"What?" I snap, growing more irritated by the second.

"I couldn't stop thinking about it," he blurts out. "The stuff Brother James said—I couldn't get it out of my mind."

"James?" I'm both surprised and confused at the mention of the man's name in this particular conversation. "What does James have to do with—"

But Edward's so worked up that he doesn't notice I'm talking. "And I knew none of it was true…" he rambles on. "I knew...I _know_ it's not…" His fists thud down hard on his legs.

"What wasn't true?"

I've already heard plenty from Mr. Masen about what he thinks of me, so I'm not expecting anything different or surprising from James. But I want to know exactly what it was that influenced Edward's actions last night.

He hesitates before stuttering out a reply. "I know you're not that type of person, Bella. He was wrong. I mean, I _know_ you're not the same as Potiphar's wife—a temptress so full of the lust of flesh and pride that she sent an innocent man to prison. I _know_ you're not a harlot like Delilah who seduced Sampson, tricked him into betraying his vows to the Lord, and then brought about his downfall."

He glances quickly at me, like he's embarrassed.

"If anything," he whispers, "you're Queen Esther…smart and beautiful and brave…the one who risked her own life to save others."

It's obvious that he's sincere, but I'm no closer to understanding the connection.

"Well, it's nice of you to say and all," I huff, "but if you really think that, then why did you accuse me of dressing like a 'harlot'—as you so _nicely_ put it—to get attention? You really hurt my feelings."

"I know, I'm sorry!" Edward cries. "It was stupid— _I_ was stupid. I just got so jealous and mad when I saw you with that guy! My head was messed up from Brother James, and the things I said to you sort of...came out. I know I should've apologized right away, but I was embarrassed and upset and—"

"Hold on," I interrupt loudly. "You still haven't told me why you were thinking about James all of the sudden. Why was he even in your head? Does that...does that happen a lot?" I frown, worried about the implications. "Maybe you should talk to Dr. Anderson about this."

"I did! That's the whole reason I was so messed up! He's been saying that I needed to talk about what happened or else it would eat away at me forever, and yesterday, he just wouldn't let it go. He kept pushing me to tell him about that night, and how Brother James attacked me, and h-how I fought back and…" Edward's anguished eyes flutter closed. "I told him," he whispers brokenly. "I told him how I killed Brother James."

My responding gasp is loud and immediate.

Of all the things that could've come out of his mouth, that was about the last thing I expected.

It's been three months since Mr. Masen's attack, and Edward's been to a lot of therapy sessions. He's opened about his dad, the way he was raised, Esme's death…but not once has he gone into any sort of detail about what happened that night in Emmett and Rosalie's backyard.

All anyone knows, including the police, is that Edward tried to fend off an attack and James somehow ended up bleeding to death from a cut on his neck. Because everyone was wearing winter gloves, neither Edward's prints nor his dad's were on the long knife that made fatal wound. Mr. Masen told investigators that Edward had killed James. Edward didn't deny it, saying only that he couldn't remember much about the entire incident. And given how badly he'd been hurt, no one pushed him on the subject. The police cited both self-defense and a lack of evidence when deciding not to press charges.

Edward's psychiatrist, however, thinks it's important for him to try recalling what happened. According to Edward, Dr. Anderson believes he's repressing the memories. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he remembers more than he lets on but just doesn't want to talk about it.

Looks like I'm about to find out if I was right.

"I never heard him coming," Edward intones in a barely-there murmur. "Maybe if there wasn't so much snow…or if my hat hadn't been over my ears…I dunno, maybe things would've been different…"

I want to argue that there's no point in thinking about the "what ifs," but instead mash my lips together to keep from making a sound. He's finally opening up to me, and I don't want to shut him down by accident.

"I'd just finished getting the wood from the pile and was about to turn around when someone grabbed me from behind. I tried to fight back, but there was a hand around my neck, cutting off all my air. The next thing I know, I'm waking up on the ground and Brother James is waving a makhaira in my face."

"That's when h- _he_...um, _Masen_...came out from behind the shed," Edward stutters, visibly shaken by the memory. "Brother James went over to him, and they both started talking about all the sins I'd committed, how they planned to deliver me from evil.

"I wasn't really listening; I was too busy trying to get my breath back. I just kept coughing and choking. But then I heard them say your name..."

Edward's face twists into a pained grimace.

"I wish I hadn't," he rasps. His gaze drops back down to his hands, which now lie palm-up over his knees. "What they were saying—the things I told you—it was the worst kind of blasphemy. I couldn't stand to hear it. I just…couldn't let it go on."

"What happened?" I ask, my heart beating faster. Even though it's all over, though he's only telling the story, I feel an irrational—yet very real—fear for him.

"I jumped up and tackled Brother James…I think." Edward's brows knit together. "It all happened so fast. I remember slamming him against the side of the house and trying to get the makhaira from him. We fought, but it didn't take long for him to turn us around and pin me. He held the makhaira against my neck and said he'd kill me if I gave them anymore trouble. But I was just _so_ mad. I told him I'd rather be dead than go with them.

"And then he laughed. He laughed and said it would be shame to kill me, but at least I'd get to see my mom again in Hell. He said that...that…" Edward's voice gives out, and he has to try again. "He said that soon _you'd_ be joining us, too, and I just...lost it. I started hitting and kicking, and somehow, I managed to get a hand on the makhaira. I was just trying to stop him, trying to make sure he could hurt anyone, but the next thing I know, he was...he was gasping and holding his neck and there was blood everywhere and he stared at me like he couldn't believe it and...and…"

Just when I think Edward's about to break down into tears, his jaw shifts, and his eyes harden. I can tell he's biting hard on the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions from spilling out.

"I'd forgotten that Brother James wasn't alone," he goes on after a few seconds of internal struggle. "My d—Masen grabbed me and threw away the makhaira in my hand. You came out of the house right after that, so I guess you know the rest."

"Yeah," I whisper sadly. "I know the rest."

Our eyes meet, and he can't hold it in any longer.

"I _killed_ him, Bella!" he sobs. "Brother James is dead because of _me_! And if you hadn't stepped in, I would've killed my d-dad, too! I'm a sinner of the worst kind. I don't blame you for not wanting to be with me."

"Edward, come on now, that has nothing to do with—"

"But it _does_ ," he insists. "What I did to them...I couldn't get it off my mind, even after I left Dr. Anderson's office. For the rest of the day, I tried to act like it wasn't bothering me, but I kept seeing their faces and hearing their voices and thinking of how I was just as evil as them. Then, later, when I found you talking to Eric, part of me thought you'd be better off with a guy like him. You know—a guy who's normal, who didn't grow with religious freaks for parents, someone who didn't try to kill his dad and who _actually_ killed one of his dad's best friends." Edward shakes his head sadly. "Even then, I knew you deserved someone better than me. But when I thought about you being with anyone else, I couldn't stand it! I was sick to my stomach and angry at the same time. I couldn't let it happen. I had to get you away from Eric."

"And that's one of the places where you went so wrong," I say quietly. "You can't make those decisions for me; I won't let you. You can't tell me who I can be friends with or what kind of clothes are okay to wear. You can't decide what's best for me all on your own. And you _most definitely_ can't…" My voice cracks from the flood of emotion rising in my throat. "You _can't_ decide my feelings on sex and then come up some stupid, horrible plan where you fucking ra—force yourself on me so that we'll be cool in the eyes of your god! I mean, really, Edward, what the hell was going through your fucked-up head last night?"

I don't realize that I've gotten off the couch and am stalking toward him with fisted hands until Carlisle's concerned voice cuts through my angry fog.

"Is everything okay in here?" he asks, standing in the entryway to the living room. "Do you need to take a break, or…?"

"No, we're good," I grit out, glowering at Edward as if daring him to say otherwise. I send Carlisle the most reassuring look I can come up with and go back to my seat. "I was just about to find out what went down at the _fun_ party he went to."

After staring hard at both of us, Carlisle nods, reluctantly, and returns to the kitchen. I'd bet he's more shocked by my language then the volume. He knows I'm not a fan of swear words; Mama always cussed a lot more whenever Greg was around.

Edward seems even more stunned than Carlisle, but I don't have any patience left for him.

"Well, let's hear it," I growl, crossing my arms as I lean back against the couch cushions. "Tell me about how you got trashed with your BFFs while sitting around talking about how to get in my pants."

He opens his mouth as if to correct me, but my scathing glare makes him think better of that. His shoulders slump forward when he finally does speak.

"I never even wanted to drink," he murmurs ruefully. "By the time we got to Josh's house, all I wanted to do was come back here and tell you how sorry I was. I figured I'd call Carlisle since no one was gonna be ready to leave, but then, uh, I sorta got sidetracked. Everyone at the party made such a big deal when Cole and the rest of us walked in the door. Josh and some other seniors came over to say hi, and I couldn't just leave in the middle of them being so nice, you know? It would've been really rude."

"Glad to see you've got your priorities straight," I mutter, my voice full of spiteful sarcasm.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," he laments. "It was really stupid, and at the time—"

I cut him off with a sharp wave of my hand. "Forget it. Keep going. I'm waiting to hear how all this alcohol got in your system when you supposedly didn't want to drink in the first place."

"Well, uh, I...I…" Edward's clearly flustered by my harsh tone as he stumbles to tell the story. "When the group split up, I told Cole that I was gonna go. He tried to change my mind since it was my first party and all, but I really wanted to see you. Grant argued with him and said that he knew how much it sucked to be in trouble with your girl. Then he told me you'd be more willing to forgive me if I...uh...uh..went down on you."

Edward's face is bright red as he mumbles out the words, and mine quickly turns the same color.

For all the actual sex I've heard and seen during my life, it's almost kind of funny how embarrassed I can get about the subject.

"I guess I looked really confused," he continues reluctantly. "Grant figured out right away that I didn't know what it meant. He laughed and called Kevin over so they could educate me on, um, 'how to be a man.'"

I groan at the thought of what the other guys probably told Edward. I'm sure he got an earful, complete with plenty of graphic details. It must've been a shocking eye-opener for him.

"At one point, someone handed me a little cup with watery green stuff in it, and I wasn't really paying attention when I drank it. Cole smacked me on the back after I made a face at the weird taste and asked me if that was my first Jello shot. Then he asked if I knew how to take a tequila shot." Edward pauses to rub his hands across his still-red face. "I felt like such a clueless idiot, so when they said they'd teach me, I went with it."

Even if I didn't already know how it turned out, it wouldn't be hard to guess. In fact, now that I think about it, it'd be more of a surprise if he _hadn't_ gotten smashed, especially since he was by himself with the other guys. A tiny bit of guilt over abandoning him creeps into my mind, but I quickly beat it back. _He's_ the one who screwed up, not me.

And Edward is having no problems admitting that himself.

"I should've left right away, and none of this would've happened," he cries into his hands. "Or even after that first Jello thing, I probably would've been okay. But I guess the tequila hit me pretty hard because I started feeling kinda happy. I started to forget what had been bothering me. Nothing seemed to matter as much anymore—what Brother James said, how I reacted to it, what I did to him, the terrible way I treated you—none of it seemed as bad. It felt like, for the first time since Mom died, everything was going to be okay...and I didn't want that feeling to stop.

"I don't know how much I ended up drinking, but at some point, I started to get sick. I threw up a couple times, and after that, everything bad I'd been feeling came back—only worse. I knew I'd screwed up again, and I got scared. I was sure you'd leave me to be with someone else. But all the other stuff about Brother James and my dad was running around in my head, too, and for some reason, I thought of that Exodus verse. It seemed like the perfect answer. If we would, uh, _lay_ together and I did what the guys told me, you'd be happy. I'd be happy because our shared sin would mean we'd have to get married, and then I'd never have to worry about you leaving me, no matter what kind of person I was in the past." Edward shakes his head, his face still buried in his hands. "And that's what last night was about. I know it doesn't make much sense now, but that's why I did...what I did."

Holding back an exhausted sigh, I stare at his trembling form. It takes me a minute to gather the mental energy to respond, and even then, I have to force the words out.

"I'm not sure exactly how to feel about all this," I finally say. "There's a part of me that can sort of understand it, especially after finding out about your therapy session yesterday. Telling Dr. Anderson about James is huge for you, and I'm really glad you did. I just...I wish I'd known he'd come up in your session; I probably wouldn't have taken the things you said as seriously. Heck, I probably would've been trying to make you feel better instead of going off on you. Then maybe I would've stayed, and you wouldn't have gotten drunk, and...and..."

"Yeah," he replies morosely when I trail off into silence. "I should've talked to you or at least given you a clue instead of trying to pretend nothing was wrong. But I was just so sick of it, you know?" His fingers curl into his wrinkled flannel pants. "I'm so sick of feeling bad all the time, of thinking about how messed up my life has been! I just wanted to go to the basketball game with you and forget everything else!"

I can't tell by his voice if he's angry or sad; probably he's both. I know I am, and a whole lot more. I'm mad at the crappy situation we're in and everything that's led up to it. I'm pissed at Cole, Grant, Kevin, and anyone else who played a part in Edward's condition last night. And of course I'm furious at Edward for what he did to me and to himself.

I'm frustrated because I'm sick of feeling bad, too. My own therapist tells me I'm on the right track to healing, but that track seems too long and too hard. I want everything to be better _now_ , for me and for Edward.

But most of all, I'm sad. Sad and broken-hearted. Because despite how I can make sense of Edward's actions last night, despite how truly sorry I know he is, I've come to realize that it's not enough for me.

Our friendship has had its problems, especially over the past year, but _this_ problem...this one's just too much. I can't forget what he did, and I can't put it behind me. Not now, and not anytime soon. He scared me, he hurt me, and worst of all, he broke my trust. I don't know if he'd ever be able to get it back. I don't know if I even want him to.

My heart lurches painfully in my chest at the thought of what I'm about to do. I wonder if maybe I should wait, maybe I should think over my decision longer before saying things that will crush us both. But deep down, I know my mind's not going to change, and the longer I put this off, the harder it will be on us both.

"I think you're a good person, Edward," I begin in a whisper, my eyes dropping to a spot on the rug in front of his chair. "I think we're both good people who had really bad stuff happen to us. You've been my best friend for a long time and helped me get through the worst of it. That means so much to me, and I'll always love you for it."

"Bella," he breathes in sudden, wondrous surprise. Though I'm not looking at him, I can tell that happiness is written all over his face.

It _kills_ me to keep going, but I make myself plow ahead before I can lose my nerve.

"Yes, I care about you: I always have, and I always will. But that can't fix everything...it's just not that simple." Stinging tears well in my eyes, but I ignore them. "The problem is that, this time, _you_ were the one who did the really bad stuff. I know you didn't mean to, and I _know_ you're sorry, but it's just not...there's no way you can...not for this…"

I'm floundering as it is, but then I make the mistake of glancing up at him. If there was hope in his eyes a minute ago, it's long gone now, replaced by fear and anguish.

I think somehow, already, he knows.

"What are you trying to say, Bella?" he rasps, his lips barely moving. "You can't forgive me?"

My lungs feel like they're struggling to take in air, and my pulse pounds in my ears.

"It's not about that," I manage to choke out.

"Then what? Tell me how to make things right with you. Tell me how to fix this, fix _us!_ "

The tears spill over my lashes. "I don't think you can."

"No." His head shakes slowly back and forth. "No, there has to be a way. Whatever it is, I'll do it. I'll do anything... _please_ , Bella…"

The red around his damp eyes makes the familiar green inside seem brighter than ever. I remember being filled with happiness every time I saw that unique shade peeking through the hole in rickety fence between our houses. Without a doubt, the best moments of my young life happened in the presence of those eyes.

But I also remember their drunken darkness hovering inches above my face as his body weight pushed me into the mattress last night, as he held my hands above my head, as I struggled to get away…

The feeling of terror tightens in my chest, and I jump up from the couch.

"It won't work, Edward!" I cry. "It's too late. You can't undo what happened, and now...now I can't be near you, I can't look at you, I can't even _think_ of you without remembering. It's too much for me to handle, and I need...I need to go. I need to go _now_."

I start to move toward the kitchen but then freeze in place when Edward leaps up, too.

"Wait! Are you leaving, or are you... _leaving?_ "

"I'm sorry! God, I'm so, so sorry." I can barely see now for the tears flooding my vision.

"No, please, no!" Edward gasps. "Don't do this. You're the most important thing in the world to me. I need you. I _love_ you!"

A broken sob shudders through him as he throws himself to the floor, his knees folded under his body, his forehead pressed against the rug.

" _Have mercy upon me…according to your lovingkindness; according to the multitude of your tender mercies, blot out my transgressions…_ "

Startling backward, I stare down in alarm at his prone figure as he passionately recites what I think is a Bible verse. The phrases slip out of his mouth without effort or hesitation, as if he has spoken them many times before.

"… _For I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is always before me. Against you,_ you _only, have I sinned, and done this evil in your sight—that you may be found just when you speak, and blameless when you judge…_ "

Horror shivers up and down my spine at the sight. It looks like some sort of repentance ritual, maybe one that Mr. Masen made him perform as punishment. Except I don't think it's his dad's god that he's praying to this time.

"Edward, no!" I exclaim, deeply unsettled. "You don't have to do that…"

" _Do_ not _cast me away from your presence, and do not take your beautiful spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation; and uphold me by your generous spirit…_ "

He's crying openly now, his words becoming garbled with gasps and sobs. What's left of my heart shatters in my chest, and I find myself moving to kneel down beside him.

"Edward, please…"

But he continues on, the anguish in his voice increasing to fever pitch.

" _Deliver me…from the guilt of bloodshed…you are my salvation…do you desire sacrifice?...to you I would give it…would you delight in a burnt offering?…a broken and contrite heart…_ "

His upper body rises just enough to angle toward me as he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.

"…my b-broken and contrite heart…"

I lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. His whole body shudders violently in response.

"Bella, please!" he cries, grabbing at the material of my sweatpants and touching his forehead to it in utter supplication.

If I would've expected my reaction to his quick movement, maybe I could have stopped it. But instead, I let out a screech and shove him away from me while scrambling backward.

The two adults seem to appear out of nowhere and rush over to us. Carlisle pulls a weeping Edward into his arms on the floor while Cynthia squats down in front of me with her hand out.

"I want to go home," I whimper, wrapping my arms around my body to keep from shaking. "I want you to take me home."

Edward struggles in vain against Carlisle's hold as Cynthia helps me to my feet; he's not much of a challenge for the work-hardened landscaper. His desperate pleas follow us to the front door, and I can feel my own grief deepening with each step away from him that I take. But as much as it hurts, I have to make the choice that's best for me.

Cynthia grabs her purse from a side table and opens the door. She waits for me with the gentlest expression of sympathy on her face. Before I walk out of the house, however, I turn to Edward one more time.

He goes still against Carlisle when our eyes meet, and for one tenuous moment, I want to change my mind, take back everything I said. With his wrinkled clothes and rumpled up hair, he looks more than ever like the sad, hurting little boy on the other side of the fence. My legs want to take me over to him so I can hug him tight in my arms, kiss his beautiful tear-stained face, and promise that everything's going to be okay.

It makes such a perfect picture in my head, and I want it so badly.

I want to step inside that fairy tale scene and stay there forever.

But I should know better than to consider a fantasy. Real life isn't a perfect, happy little illusion. Pictures only show small slivers of time.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I want to, but I can't."

It's an apology to Edward.

It's an apology to myself.

I choke back a soul-rending sob and turn back to the door. I'm running away from him for the last time.

-o-o-o-o-o-

* * *

 ** _Makhaira - a short, curved, single-edged sword_**

 ** _Edward's prayer of repentance is based on Psalm 51. I quoted the New King James Version for ease of understanding, but Mr. Masen would've studied the King James Version. Edward adapts the verses to his needs._**

 ** _Eternal thanks to Powered by 23 Kicks for her insights and feedback! All mistakes are mine._**


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

* * *

"Huntington's Disease is an inherited condition that damages and kills brain cells. It is an example of…"

 _Plink._

"…an example of autosomal dominance of alleles in Mendelian genetics. Autosomal dominance—as you remember—occurs when…"

 _Plink, plink._

"…when the effect on phenotype of one allele, uh…"

 _Plink. Plink, plink._

"…when the effect of one allele—wait, the effect of one _phenotype_ , er…"

 _Plink._

I sigh and glance down at note card on top of the pile in my lap. It's been an hour since I came outside to practice the presentation for my biology project, but I haven't even made it past the first paragraph. The information refuses to stay in my head no matter how many times I read over it.

Of course, it doesn't help that I'm distracted by anything and everything. The cars driving by. The rumbles from a powerful bass speaker in the house across the street. The steady _plink_ of rainwater dripping down a drain spout and onto a rusted metal trashcan lid. My attention skips and wanders and jumps from one thing to another. If I didn't know better, I'd wonder if I suffered from ADD or something.

But I don't have to wonder. I know exactly why I'm distracted, why I've been walking around in an absent-minded fog during the day and struggling to fall asleep at night. I know why I spend long periods staring off into space, forgetting to move, and why there are other times when every part of me twitches with restless energy. I know why I haven't been able to form a real smile for weeks.

I know why I feel this way—it was my decision, after all—but I don't know how to get over it.

I don't know how to get over _him._

Almost against their will, my eyes slide over to the small rancher on the other side of our fence. The blue and white _For Sale_ sign is both a relief and a torment. I can't wait to see light in the windows again; the empty house is creepy in its dark, foreboding silence. There are times, especially during sleepless nights, when I get the irrational, paranoid feeling I'm being watched by someone lurking in that house—someone dangerous like Peter or Andrew, whose location is still unknown. My imagination has even gotten carried away once or twice with thoughts about James's ghost coming back to make good on his death threats.

So, yes, it will give me a little peace of mind to have the house safely occupied by perfect strangers. But on the other hand, the place holds plenty of good memories, too. Hours and hours spent talking to Edward about anything and everything. Watching him, and later Mary Alice, through the oval-shaped hole hidden behind the bushes, seeing them grow and change as the months passed. Sliding books and magazines under a section of rain-rotted boards so he could learn about a world outside of the tightly restricted one his dad forced on him. Developing a friendship that helped us through some of the worst times of our lives.

It almost seems wrong that anyone else should live there. The last thing I need is another reminder that Edward's not a part of my life anymore.

If I was confused about how to feel before walking away from him a month ago, that's nothing compared to the emotional roller coaster I'm riding now. I constantly question whether I made the right decision and then catch myself looking at the schedule for the bus to Carlisle's house. Some days I think I overreacted to what happened, that it wasn't such a big deal, and other days I wish I would've kicked him between the legs on my way out the door.

My head and my heart are at war with each other, and I can't decide which one should come out on top.

Wincing in frustration at the fact that another half hour just passed by without any progress on my presentation, I decide to quit for the evening. Mama's going to be calling me into dinner soon, anyway.

We normally don't eat together, instead grabbing a bowl of cereal or something else easy whenever hunger strikes. Even when there's pizza or take-out for dinner, we go our separate ways after getting our plates. If the weather's decent, I like to hang out on the front porch; otherwise, I'll eat in my room while reading a book. Mama almost always sits in the living room and watches TV. I could probably count on two hands the times in my entire life we've eaten together at the kitchen table, and half of them have happened in the last month when a certain guest has come over.

Tyler Crowley is the guy Mama's currently dating. I'm not sure if he's an "official" boyfriend or not; they seem to be taking things slowly. He's older than her—in his forties, I think—and has a pretty mellow personality. They met at the restaurant where they both work, though he's a bartender and not part of the wait staff like her.

I like him okay, and he comes off as a decent guy. Other than maybe trying a little too hard to be "cool" sometimes, I haven't found anything that bothers me. By far, he's the best person Mama's ever brought home—though that bar wasn't very high to begin with.

It's obvious that she likes him and wants their relationship to work. And given her terrible track record with men, I really should try harder to be more enthusiastic when Tyler comes over. I'm not rude to him or anything, but I'm not very warm, either.

It's hard when I feel so empty inside.

And to be completely honest, I feel…envious, or maybe even a little bitter that she's all smiley and up in the clouds while I can barely seem to make it through each day. It's not that I don't want things to work out for her—because I _do_ —but seeing her relationship develop while mine just exploded is sort of like pouring salt in a deep, open wound.

It hurts.

The late afternoon rain has eased off to a light drizzle, so I walk out to the mailbox as a way to procrastinate going back inside and facing the happy couple. There's a small handful of envelopes and flyers inside that I browse through in search of bills. While Mama's been doing great keeping on top of stuff like that, my old habits die hard—and I'm worried that hers will, too. I'll probably always be on the lookout for signs that she's slipping up again.

There aren't any bills in the mix today, but I do find two identical light green envelopes, one addressed to Mama and the other to me. My heart begins to race as I take in the neat, loopy handwriting on the back. I recognize it at once.

It's Cynthia's.

Ecstatic, I almost drop the rest of the mail in my hurry to rip open my envelope. Inside is what I'd already guessed: an invitation to Rosalie's baby shower at Cynthia's house. She's due the second week of April and is waiting until the birth to find out the sex of the kiddo. I'm secretly rooting for a boy.

The smile falls off my face as quickly as it appeared. As much as I'm dying to go, there's no way Mama will ever let me. I haven't seen any of the Cullens or McCartys since Cynthia drove me home that morning over a month ago. Mama was so mad when she found out the basics of what had happened with Edward. She said I wasn't allowed to spend time any more time with them and threatened to tell Social Services about the incident if I didn't stay away. As far as threats go, it's been very effective: a report like that might cause the agency to reconsider letting Edward and Mary Alice stay with the Cullens.

I miss them all so much—almost as much as I miss Edward—and have thought about sneaking over a few times. But I'm afraid to take the risk of Mama somehow finding out. I'd never forgive myself, or Mama, if Edward and Mary Alice were yanked away from the family that loves them as their own.

Still, I _really_ want to go to Rosalie's baby shower. It would make me so happy to see them again, and I could use some cheer in my life right now. Maybe it's worth taking a chance. Mama is supposed to work that day, and I could tell her I was going to Tanya or Heidi's house. She'd never know the difference.

With only a twinge of guilt, I memorize the information, then casually slip the invitations in between the pages of a Walgreens ad and drop it in the recycling bin at the curb.

As expected, Mama and Tyler are all hearts and grins in the kitchen when I finally drag myself inside. I do my best to keep a neutral expression on my face, which is all I can manage. Already, my attempt at playing nice isn't working very well.

Mama doesn't seem to notice my mood, not she ever really does.

"Hey, baby," she sings out. "I was just about to call you in. Go 'head and set the table; supper'll be ready in a couple minutes."

Looks like we're having spaghetti again. None of us are very good at cooking, though Tyler does handle a grill well enough. I have to admit, it was nice when he bought us a little charcoal unit. Hamburger isn't that expensive and makes a nice change of pace from what we usually eat.

Still, none of our meals come close to those at the Cullen and McCarty houses. My stomach growls at the thought. Absently, I wonder if food is a typical thing at baby showers—as if I need more of a reason to want to go.

"Let me give you a hand with that," Tyler offers, breaking me out of my reverie as he comes over to the table. "How's your speech going? Making good progress?"

"Yeah," I grunt lowly before catching myself. Pausing to glance up at him, I try again, more politely this time. "Uh, I've still got a ways to go, but I'm getting there." I even twist one side of my mouth up into a kind of strange grin.

It's a start.

Tyler, for his part, seems happy about my attempt. He nods his head and smiles. "I'm sure you will. I know your Mama's real proud of you. She talks about how good you do in school all the time."

My eyebrows go up in surprise. I had no idea: she's never said anything like that to me before.

"My baby girl's a smart one," Mama brags as she brings the pasta to the table, confirming Tyler's statement. "Mark my words, she's gonna get her diploma and outdo us both."

"You didn't graduate high school?" I ask, curious about the past she hardly ever talks about.

Mama laughs. "I was too busy warmin' your milk and changin' your diapers. Babies is hard work, and don't you forget it. Best be smarter'n me and keep your legs closed 'til you get older."

"Mama!" I hiss lowly, my face flaming in embarrassment. I plop down in a chair at the table and duck my head as if that could somehow make me invisible. I can't believe she said something like that in front of Tyler.

Thankfully, he picks up on the way I'm feeling and starts talking about some sort of big sports game that's coming up. Mama hangs on his every word, and I'm able to survive the meal with minimal interaction. Though I avoid looking in Tyler's direction as much as possible, I do shoot him a grateful half-grin when he leads her to the TV so I can clean up in heavenly solitude.

It's nice being able to let go of the awkwardness I feel around the two adults, but the bad part about being left alone to my thoughts is…exactly that. The shadowy gloom sneaks up as soon as my focus slips, like a cat stalking its prey. One second I'm inspecting a plate for remaining soap bubbles, the next, I stand frozen in front of the sink, dish forgotten in my lifted hand, as my mind drifts across the city, back through time, to one of the many occasions when Edward and I would clean up together after Cynthia's meals.

Sometimes, we'd hurry through our chores to get back to an evening of finishing homework, watching TV, or looking for quiet corners to sneak in a good session of heated kissing. Other times, the cleaning itself would become our entertainment. We'd hold silly races to see who could finish a task first. Kitchen items would take on character roles from the TV show _Blue's Clues_ , a favorite of Mary Alice's, and entire dramatic sagas would be acted out. And even though someone could walk in on us at any time, there was still plenty of kissing. We just kept it on PG side.

Mostly.

An abrupt cheer from the living room startles me back into the action of washing the dishes—I guess their team must have done something good—but memories involving Edward's lips, tongue, and hands continue to run through my head. And while I know going down this path never ends well, I crave the intense feelings before the crash too much to stop myself from taking the trip.

I love that tightness in my stomach when I think about the sensation of our tongues moving together in a familiar, unique rhythm. There's a jolting tingle of excitement in my chest every time I remember the warmth of his body against mine through our clothes and wonder what it might've felt like without those layers separating us. And nothing in the world could compare to the way my heart took off and soared when he looked at me with passion in his eyes, with longing and now-obvious love, like I was everything and the only thing he needed in the world.

Ugh, I miss him _so_ much.

If Mama hadn't given my phone back to the Cullens, I'd probably be digging it out of my pocket with soapy fingers and calling him right this instant. Heck, I probably would've given into that urge weeks ago, maybe even the same day I told him goodbye. So maybe it's a good thing, after all, that I don't have any easy, immediate way of getting in touch with him. Because right on the heels of the all the wonderful kisses comes the painful memory of The Other One.

And it always brings along feelings of hurt, shame, and anger.

Stuffing the plate into a slot on the drying rack, I let out a frustrated growl and violently shake my head back and forth in hopes of clearing my mind like an Etch-a-Sketch. Sadly, the only thing I get for my effort is dizziness and a slight headache.

Maybe a distraction in the form of a good book is a better idea. At the very least, I'll be less likely to give myself a concussion.

"I'm gonna read in my room for a while and then go to bed," I announce to Mama and Tyler on my way through the living room.

They chime in with a chorus of goodnights. Tyler looks like he wants to say something else to me but then decides against it. I respond with a mental shrug. It'd be great if he could solve all my problems with a pep talk. But not even Dr. Henry, whom I'm still seeing once a week, has been able to do that. Though, she also says it's not so much about making my issues magically disappear than it is learning healthy ways to cope with them.

Apparently, stumbling through the day like a depressed zombie isn't very healthy.

Due to said vegetative state, it takes me almost twenty minutes to finish the simple task of getting ready for bed. When I do finally crawl under the covers with a library book in hand, however, I'm surprised to find myself fighting to keep my eyes open. Normally, instead of powering down for sleep, my brain is too busy coming up with dreary thoughts of a tumultuous past, an unhappy present, and an uncertain future.

Tonight, I'm out like a figurative light before I'm able to turn off the real one beside my bed.

And it's then that I discover the evil genius of my subconscious. Instead of harassing me while I was awake, it waited to attack a helpless captive. Trapped in fitful sleep, I'm assaulted with a weird mishmash of dreams that are half memories of real events and half fictional scenes of both the good and bad variety.

Dream Me sits on Edward's lap in the McCartys' snowy backyard as a bloody body stares with sightless eyes in our direction. Mr. Masen is there, too, of course. He looms large and shadowy over us with a raised makhaira in his gnarled hand, ready to strike. But before the killing blow can be delivered, the location shifts to Primo Pizzeria, where Edward fights an incensed Eric and Mary Alice sobs as I walk away from them for good.

But I don't get very far before finding myself in Carlisle's basement, drowning my anguish with a bottle of vodka. The reason is partly the same as Edward's was: I want to forget all the pain and have just a few moments of peace in my head, even if I know I'll pay for it later. The tipsy, silly, _easy_ feeling—one that I remember from the time the ten-year-old me stealthily tried a beer from Greg's stash—has taken over and made everything okay.

 _All_ of it.

So when Edward storms down the stairs and pushes me down on the bed, I'm fine. When he grabs my chin and kisses me roughly, I resist with all my strength—but only so I can enjoy how his fingers dig harder into my skin. He pins my arms above my head and reaches down to the hem of my pants…and I've never wanted anything more in my life. I struggle, I yell at him, I fight—but he doesn't listen, he doesn't stop. My hips arch up to meet him at the same time that I taste his blood in my mouth, as he fumbles with the button of his jeans...as he pushes them down around his thighs…

As I feel him bare against me for the first time…

Jolting awake with a gasp, I sit up and blink rapidly in the dim-yet-too-bright light of the bedside lamp. It takes me a minute to get my bearings, and I'm sorry when I finally do. My body is covered in sweat, my heart is pounding, and tonight's partially-digested dinner is churning in my stomach.

Dammit.

I had _that_ dream again, and I'm just as shaken up by it now as I was the first time, over two weeks ago.

Despite the, um, rather graphic nature of the dream, it bothered me enough that I made myself talk it over with Dr. Henry. And though she assured me that it's perfectly normal, that I'm really not the sick pervert I initially labeled myself, I still haven't come to terms with what the dream means, or—more importantly—what it _doesn't_.

It's just that I can't stop asking myself who the hell actually goes through traumatic, scary events and then is later turned on by them? What kind of person has such a deviant hidden side? Have I been this messed up for a long time without even realizing it?

Like a good little patient, I bobbed my head up and down when Dr. Henry yet again insisted that "everyone deals with trauma in a different way." I pretended that I believed getting off on my fear was somehow _not_ a slap in the face to everyone else who'd ever been assaulted. I told her I agreed with her statements about control and how the loss of it was really what scared me—and not necessarily the sexual act itself. Heck, I even said I could buy into her suggestion that my alternate reality dreams were some of the ways my subconscious was taking back control.

But the truth is, I don't know what to think.

My eyes have now adjusted to the light and sweep restlessly over the small room with its sparse furniture and lack of decor. It's not the most uplifting sight, that's for sure. Deciding that I can brood just as well in the dark—no sense in making the electric bill higher than it needs to be—I twist over the edge of the bed to reach for the lamp. My aim isn't that great, however, and I end up smacking my elbow against the table, knocking various items to the floor in the process.

A random assortment of things fall, but I only notice the descent of one object: a small, delicate wooden carving of a swan. It's surprising well done for being the work of 13-year-old, but the craftsmanship isn't what I care about. It could look like a headless chicken and still be one of my most precious possessions. I love it because I love who gave it to me.

With an unexpected sob of sadness, I snatch the figurine from the dingy carpet and clutch it to my chest.

Edward made this wooden swan and gifted it to me as a Christmas present—the same night he kissed my cheek for the first time. Has it really only been a short 15 months since then? That Christmas, his family was still living together, the Cullens and McCartys were complete strangers, I had yet to learn firsthand just how dangerous Mr. Masen was, and Esme...poor sweet Esme...

My eyes begin to prickle and burn.

How could so much have happened in that time? How could our lives have changed so much?

And how could Edward and I have gone so far—only to end up nowhere at all?

Streaming tears drip from my chin as I throw back the covers and lurch off the bed. Agitated energy sizzles through my body, causing me to pace back and forth in front of my window—the window that Edward crawled through on several occasions in direct defiance of his dad.

I take in deep breaths but still feel like I'm suffocating. The room has suddenly become too small, the air too heavy. I've got to get out of here.

The clock reads 3:18 a.m.—hardly the time to be stampeding outside on a cold, wet March night in my pajamas, but the possibility of a little hypothermia is the farthest thing from my mind. At least force of habit has me slipping into a pair of shoes before making my way through the dark kitchen and out the back door.

Though I didn't have a planned destination when I left my room, my legs carry me straight to a familiar evergreen shrub that grows unchecked against the weathered fence. The concealed gap at the back of the bush is smaller than ever; I haven't disturbed its branches since last summer, back when Edward and I had a huge fight over my suggestion that he ask Carlisle to help them get away from his dad. The painful memory replays in my head as I fall to my knees on the soggy ground and push past bristly green boughs.

It's nearly pitch black in the small hollow within the bush, but my body easily folds itself into the usual spot. There's still a comfortable indentation in the thick layer of crushed leaves, pine needles, and loam despite the passage of time. Eyes closing, I rest my head against the boards and take in a lungful of chilly air. Though I'm now surrounded closely on all sides, the stifling pressure on my chest has gone just as quickly as it appeared, and the droning haze in my head—the one that's plagued me since I fled from a sobbing Edward—seems to have gone with it.

My fingers trace absent paths over the wooden swan's body still clutched in my hand. I can practically feel the effort Edward must have dedicated to it within the simple, yet carefully sanded lines. A fingertip discovers a thin rounded ridge around the base of one wing, and after considering the strange ring for a few seconds, I realize that it's probably a bead of glue.

Huh. I wonder if he'd accidentally broken off a wing while carving or maybe knocked the finished figurine off a table like I had. I wish I could just text him like I used to and find out. Well, whatever the case, he'd been able to fix it so well that I'd only now noticed.

The essay writer in me smirks at the beautifully apropos metaphor in my hands. A damaged wooden swan, a broken Bella Swan, a shattered friendship. If I could be an outsider looking in, the tragic parallels would make for an easy A on an English paper.

The million-dollar question, of course, is whether Edward and I—whether _we_ —can also be mended.

Before now, I could barely think about _that_ night without being overwhelmed into numbness. The memory was a dark, deadly abyss whose edge I would tiptoe around with my eyes half-covered, cautiously taking a step forward, then jumping back in fear. I knew I needed to get closer, I needed to face whatever the depths held, but I just couldn't.

Somehow, there's been a change in me. Not a big one by any stretch, but enough that I feel I can finally take my hands away from my eyes. I can look around, get my bearings, and maybe even figure out a way to move over, or around, or even _through_ the abyss.

I can finally begin to heal.

Maybe I'm ready to go forward because I'm tired of the endless back and forth that really just has me standing still. Maybe the wooden swan's solid body in my hand is grounding me, is reminding that there's good to go along with the bad, that there's plenty of meaning in life and it's up to me to find it.

Or maybe it's simply that enough time has passed.

I don't think the why is all that important right now.

A spark of excitement lights in my stomach. It's a good feeling, a hopeful feeling, one that I want to hold onto. But the anxious fluttering also makes me aware of the rest of my stiff, shivering body. As calming as this special spot beside the fence is, it's also cold, wet, and cramped.

Any and all further thoughts will need to be had indoors.

In dry clothes.

On a nice, soft mattress.

And maybe with some hot chocolate.

I put one hand on the ground to push myself up, and that's when I feel it: damp smoothness under a thin layer of leaves. I think it's some sort of paper. As soon as my fingers close around the edges, I realize I'm holding an envelope.

My heart begins to beat faster, especially when I find two others under it. The one on the very bottom is the most wet and warped; it feels like it's been there for a longer time.

But how long is that? Although the branches of large bush provide shelter, the weather's been pretty ugly recently. The envelopes could have lain here for days, weeks—even months. I hold the top envelope close to my eyes to see if there's writing, but it's just too dark to make anything out.

My hands are shaking from more than the cold now as I scramble out through the shrub's foliage. I'm half excited, half scared, and one hundred percent impatient.

I'm dying to know what's inside the envelopes.

I can't get into the light fast enough.

* * *

 **Traveling, lessons, recitals, competitions, husband deploying, farm maintenance, the daily grind...real life's been a _little_ busy! But, I'm still trying to write whenever I get the time and energy. Thanks for sticking with the story!**

 **xxoo**


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

* * *

 _March 2_

 _Bella,_

 _I really really hope you get this. Soon. I wish I could talk to you…well, I wish I could see you, but I'm sort of on lockdown right now. It's a long story._

 _But first off, I want to say I'm sorry again. Times a million. I know it's not worth much, but I'll say it every hour of every day for the rest of my life if it'll prove to you that I mean it. Cuz I really do mean it._

 _I been thinking A LOT about my stupid, terrible mistake that night. And about the other stuff you said, too. You know, the stuff about the clothes and the jealousy and me trying to fit in with Cole and everyone. You were right…like you usually are. I shouldn't have treated you the way I did, and I'm really sorry about that, too._

 _I been talking to Dr. Anderson about everything. He was the one who came up with the idea to write you a letter, but just as an exercise for me. He doesn't want me to talk to you right now for some stupid reason, but I don't care._

 _I have to try, even if you probably won't ever go back to our spot at the fence. If this doesn't work, I'll try something different when I get the chance. And actually, this isn't even the first letter I wrote you. It's more like the fourth. I didn't finish the first two because I was dumb and wrote them in pen. I kept messing up and crossing things out, and you could barely even read it after a while. I finally figured out I should use a pencil, haha._

 _I thought about mailing it, but I wanted you to get the letter right away, so I begged Cee to take it over to your house. She said she wanted to talk to your mom and see how you were doing, anyway. But it turned out to be a bad idea. I guess your mom really hates me now, and the Cullens, too. I could tell Cee was trying to be nice when she told me what happened, but it sounded like your mom yelled a lot. She said she'd call the police if any of us came near you again, and then she tore up my letter…_

 _-o-o-o-o-o-_

The limp pages of Edward's second, more successful attempt fall onto my bed as I gasp in disbelief at the words I just read.

Earlier, after pushing my way out from behind the bush, I'd hurried into the house as fast as I could while trying not to make too much noise. My wet clothes had been yanked off and dropped on the floor in my room. I didn't even bother to scrounge up a set of dry ones. Teeth chattering, I'd wrapped my cold body in the bed's comforter and anxiously ripped into the envelope that had been on the bottom of the pile. It wasn't addressed to anyone, but it just _had_ to be from Edward. I was sure even before I saw the familiar messy scrawl on the pages.

In the few minutes between discovering the letters and devouring his words like a girl starving, my head had buzzed with too much excitement to wonder what I might find. Maybe if I'd taken some time to calm down, I wouldn't be so upset now about finding out the things Mama did…and what she _didn't_ do.

For instance, she never told me anything about Cynthia coming over. And she certainly hadn't mentioned a letter from Edward. It takes a few seconds for me move from shock to anger, but once there, I'm absolutely livid. I don't care what her reason was for tearing up his words; it doesn't matter. Even if she was trying to act like a parent, maybe trying to shield me from potential hurt or whatever, I think I've earned the right to decide for myself what I can handle. The letter was _mine._ She should've respected that.

She should've respected _me_.

I have the urge to storm into her room and start yelling, but burning curiosity wins out over anger. I'll save my fight with her for later. Right now, there's something more important to do.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I pick up the damp letter from my bedsheets and begin reading where I left off.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 _…Cee warned me something like that might happen before she went to see your mom, but I guess I didn't believe her. I even promised that I wouldn't freak out over it, and I tried real hard not to, but then everything started going fuzzy and dark. I thought I was going lose it again, but Cee shook me and said that if I wrote another letter, she would find a way to get it to you. That snapped me out of it, which was a really good thing. I been in here over a week, and they might let me go home soon. But if they have to knock me out again, I'm sure it'll be even longer._

 _Oh, wait. You probably don't know what I'm talking about. This is the long story part. I'll try to keep it short as I can, though. In my first letter, I didn't say anything about it, but then I remembered that not telling you stuff was one of the reasons everything got so messed up between us. So I'll try not to do it again. I just hope you don't hear this and want to stay away from me even more._

 _Anyway, what happened is that after you left that morning, I sort of…lost control. I tried to run after you, and Carlisle had to hold me back. I don't remember fighting him, but he ended up with some bruises. I still feel terrible about that, even though he says he understands._

 _I do remember him putting me in the bathroom and holding the door shut. I went crazy trying to get out so I could chase after you. I did everything I could think of to break the door down, and after a while, Carlisle let me out because he was worried I was hurting myself. He got me on the floor and kept me there until Emmett showed up. He'd called him while I was in the bathroom._

 _I didn't fight for much longer than that because I was tired and still feeling sick from, you know…the party. I fell asleep when they put me in my bedroom, but when I woke up, I freaked out again. Rose came over, and she tried to talk to me while Emmett and Carlisle kept me from running away. She made me understand that if I really cared about you, I shouldn't go after you. I should listen to what you said, and I should give you time. So I tried to do that._

 _But it was like the last time we stayed away from each other. No, it was way worse. Back then, I had to care a little bit because I was worried about Merr and my mom being hurt. This time, I just stopped caring at all. I stayed in bed and waited and that was it. I didn't want to do anything else. I wasn't even hungry._

 _After a while, Carlisle and Cee said I'd have to go to the hospital if I didn't eat. I still didn't care, so they took me in, but not to the regular hospital. I'm at Dr. Anderson's building, in the psych unit. I guess it was only a matter of time, huh?_

 _-o-o-o-o-o-_

I swallow back a sob full of so many different emotions. Edward was admitted to the Daniels Psychiatric Center? I can hardly believe it. I knew it would devastate him when I left—his pain couldn't be any less than my own—but I never imagined he'd end up in the hospital because of it.

Oh, _Edward_.

Eyes closing, I lower my head into my hand. The noose of guilt tightens around my chest even as I try to convince myself that I'm not to blame for his breakdown.

I also try to remember that it's not my responsibility to be there for him whenever he's going through tough times…even if my heart feels differently. The urge to run to him now is so strong that it's like a physical pain. I can't believe we were under the same roof for at least one of my therapy sessions this past month. We'd been so close to one another, and I never knew it.

Is he still there?

Maybe the answer is in one of the other letters. I want to tear them open right away and skim through to find out, but I force myself to be patient. His words mean too much to rush them. It's not like I can visit him in the middle of the night, anyway.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 _I pretty much slept for the first two days while I was hooked up to those bags of water and food for your veins. Then Dr. Anderson came to see me and talked for a while. He told me about the program I'd be in and how we'd have sessions together every other day until I was okay enough to go home._

 _I didn't take it too well at first—the program, that is. But they're good at making you miserable unless you participate. I guess they've had a lot of practice over the years with other patients. :^/ There's about a dozen of us here right now. Most are in high school, but some are younger. We have a bunch of different activities every day, like group sessions and family workshops and individual therapy. There's even study period with tutors who help us with schoolwork. They keep us busy, probably so we don't have time to get in trouble or think too much._

 _But we do get a little free time between dinner and lights out. That's when visiting hours are. Carlisle's been here every day since I came. Cee and Rose take turns bringing Merr, and Jasper and Emmett showed up a couple times. It's really weird, though, because we spend about ten minutes talking and the rest of the time watching Merr play with her toys without saying much._

 _Oh, by the way, she misses you a lot. Everyone does. And I miss you so much I can't stand it. _

_But…I have to, right? What other choice do I have?_

 _You know, it's funny. Even when things were terrible at home, I never thought about killing myself. Yeah, I learned about it being a sin, but other than that, the idea never came up in my head. But here, they talk about suicide all the time because so many of the others have either already tried or were close to it. And every once in a while, I'll start to think, huh, I could've avoided a lot of hurt if I'd done that years ago. Is this one of those irony things you were trying to explain to me? Like, I didn't start thinking about it until they started watching me for it?_

 _I never would, though. I might not be sure anymore if God's real or not, but I won't take the chance if my mom could be up in Heaven waiting for me._

 _And then there's my reason here on Earth…you._

 _Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to think like this. Like you're my most important reason to keep going. They tell me it's not good to need you so much. But I can't help it! I can't just turn it off like it's no big deal. How do you make yourself just stop feeling what you feel?_

 _I also think a lot about what I could've done different to keep it all from going so wrong, which is another thing they don't want me to do. But there's stuff I never told you that I wish I did before I screwed everything up. I keep wondering if that would've changed anything._

 _Like, I found out from books and then at Hickory that the people at church have a different way of dating and getting married and all. It's really old-fashioned. Guys and girls hang out together at church functions but can't go on dates by themselves unless they're pretty much engaged. Usually, the first real date will be dinner at one family's house, and it's a big deal. Dating couples almost always end up married. And I'm sure you remember that divorce isn't allowed._

 _So, even though I saw that how they dated wasn't normal, it's been in my head for as long as I can remember. That's probably why I started thinking of us being something serious after that first time we kissed in Carlisle's basement._

 _Remember that night? I think about it a lot. I miss kissing you. And holding your hand. And seeing your smiles. They always make me feel happy._

 _Anyway…to me, we were a forever couple…like, as good as engaged. I figured we'd get married one day, buy a place of our own, have kids and pets and stuff. You were…are…IT for me, no matter what. And for some crazy reason, I thought you somehow knew all this and felt the same way._

 _Or maybe you did feel the same way, except I crossed the no-matter-what_ _line that night. They been making me go to these relationship classes where they talk a lot about respectful boundaries. I even had to tell everyone what I did to you, and then we all talked about it. It was really tough to get through, but by the end, it made me understand even more how bad it was._

 _So I can see now why you ran away. It even sort of makes sense why you might not want to come back. But I can't give up hope that you will, because that's all I got. No matter how much they try to get me to care about other things, I still love you the most._

 _I want to write more, but it's almost visiting time. Cee's going to my old house tonight to do some cleaning before they try to sell it, and that's when she'll put this letter in our spot. I'm hoping so hard that you get it. It'd be amazing if you could call sometime during visiting hours or maybe even…stop by? Okay, I know that probably won't happen, but I can dream, right?_

 _And I do, all the time. I dream about you._

 _I'll write again soon._

 _Love forever,_

 _Edward_

 _-o-o-o-o-o-_

My fingers clench inward, and the letter is crushed to my heart before better judgment catches up. Gasping in horror at my mindless action, I run over to my dresser and carefully flatten the pages on its surface. It's a relief to see that, other than wrinkles and a small tear on one edge, no major damage was done.

Slowly, almost reverently, I set a heavy old book on top of the paper to keep it from warping while drying. I think to grab some PJs out of a drawer and absently pull them on as I wander back to my bed.

My face is wet with tears—as it has for most of the night—and at this point I don't even bother to brush them away. There are still two envelopes to go, and I can't imagine them being any easier to take than the first. With unsteady hands, I pick up the next one and lift its flap.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 _March 10_

 _Bella,_

 _Guess what?_

 _Freedom!_

 _I'm going home in two days!_

 _I'm so excited I can barely sit still to write this!_

 _I got a list of stuff I want to do when I get home, like sleep in 'til noon on my own sheets and watch TV whenever I want and eat junk food wearing PJs. Heck, I might even juggle some knives. Okay, just kidding about the knives (it's not like I can juggle anyway), but I'm so sick of being watched all the time like I'm going to go off myself with the first sharp thing I can find. Seriously, they're really strict about that stuff here. We even have to eat with plastic sporks so no one stabs themselves in the neck or whatever. But I guess there are some kids here who really might do that if they had the chance._

 _Speaking of strict, the reason why I'm just now sending a letter after so long is that they caught me writing to you after lights out and took it away. I wasn't allowed to have pens or paper again until now. That sucked. It probably didn't help that I yelled at them about it._

 _Staying here hasn't been all bad, though. Since a lot of us in the program have really messed up backgrounds, there are classes on what normal life is like. Well, normal's not exactly right…more like, life that's better than what most of us are used to. You know, where violence or crime or drugs aren't answers, and where you don't have to accept feeling angry or depressed or hopeless every single day. _

_But at the same time, it's been good to meet other people who've had it rough. I always felt like it was me and you against the world. It's good to find out there are other people who have gone through the same sort of stuff. Okay, not good like it's good they had to deal with that crap, but good that they can understand where I'm coming from. You know what I mean?_

 _There's a girl here named Emily. She's from the Pasomo Passomakw Passamaquoddy (-_ _she had to help me spell it, haha!) tribe that lives in Maine. Her parents are part of the tribal council and are really big into their heritage. Ever since she was little, they talked about how she needs to speak the language and learn all the legends and marry someone in the tribe. But a lot of the guys are related her in some way, and she doesn't want to stay on the reservation, anyway. She wants to go to college in a big city like LA or New York and maybe major in something having to do with movies or plays or whatever._

 _Most of the other kids in her school think she's selling out, and her parents are mad. On top of that, she's kind of a quiet and shy person. All the pressure and stress got to her, and one day, she took a bunch of her mom's pills. That's what landed her in here._

 _I feel bad for her, especially because I get what it's like to be raised different than most everyone else. When I tell her about some of what the church thinks and does, she tells me about the legends and rituals her parents still believe in. A lot of it is about a man-god-spirit person called Glooskap who would watch over their people and teach them important things. The legends say he left their land a while ago and promised to return one day._

 _Reminds me of Jesus a little. I think it's interesting how different groups of people and religions can have stories that are so alike. I was talking to Emily about it and saying that maybe it's because when it comes down to it, we're all humans, and even though we can be so different, we're still a lot alike. I dunno, what do you think?_

 _There's one story she told me that I really like—one about a girl named Blue Flower. A young hunter from the tribe wanted to marry her, and she promised to wait for him while he went out on the winter hunt. An enemy war party came soon after the hunters left and destroyed the village and took all the young girls to marry their own warriors. But Blue Flower refused, even when they threatened to burn her alive._

 _In the end, the men who'd been hunting came home and rescued the girls. The happiest couple was the young hunter and Blue Flower, who stayed loyal even though they wanted to kill her._

 _Sometimes, when I'm trying to fall asleep after lights out, I imagine that I'm the young hunter away on a hunt and you're waiting for me like Blue Flower. That's what I wish for, anyway…that you're missing me and you don't want to be with anyone else. But then other times, I feel more like Blue Flower and I'm waiting for you to come back to me. Except I'm not a girl in my imagination, lol._

 _Emily's told me a bunch of other legends, like ones about the Thunderbirds who make thunder with their wings and a giant sea serpent called Apotamkin who drags children into the water and eats them. Cool, huh? ;)_

 _Since I'm leaving soon, she's gonna email me more of the tribe's stories. I wish we could read them together. I wish it would be like before when me and you would read stories together in Carlisle's study before going to sleep. Okay, mostly it was you reading to me because I was either too drugged up on painkillers or trying not to cry my eyes out over my mom…_

 _Oh, huh. Yeeeah. That memory just killed my good mood. I'm gonna go now and maybe take a walk through the halls before visiting hours start. I'll try to think about how happy I'll be when I get out of here. And maybe I'll think some more about the young hunter and how happy he was when he got back with Blue Flower._

 _I love you._

 _Edward_

 _-o-o-o-o-o-_

Freedom. Sporks. Life Classes. Emily. Legends. Blue Flower. Emily. Funerals.

Emily.

There are no tears this time as I look up from the page, and I'm ashamed to admit I only felt a twinge of grief when he mentioned Esme.

No, instead, my thoughts are focused on some exotically beautiful, raven-haired girl with caramel skin and dark, almond eyes. I see her sharing mysteriously enticing stories and having deep discussions with Edward—her voice a breathy murmur, his eyes wide with interest, their heads bent close together in intimate secrecy.

My face scrunches up into a scowl. I wonder if Edward ever mentioned me to his newest BFF _Emily_. Did he tell her about our long history together? Does she know what we mean to each other? Is she aware that she doesn't have any sort of chance with Edward? That he's _mine_?

Except…

I guess…technically…he's not.

Damn _._

Eyes closing, I groan in both irritation and frustration. Edward and I aren't together anymore. Actually, are we even still friends? We haven't spoken in over a month—not since _I_ walked out the door on _him_. It's true that Mama's threat has been part of the reason I haven't tried to get in touch with him or someone else from the family, but I can't lay all the blame on her. Being resourceful has always been a necessity in my life. If I really wanted to break the rules without her knowing, it wouldn't be that hard.

Pulling my knees up to my chest, I lean back against the wall and give the issue some serious thought.

What might happen if Edward and I try to fix our relationship?

Worst case scenario: he could screw up again. He could hurt me, physically and/or emotionally, and it could be worse than before. I've never had broken bones or experienced anywhere near the bodily pain Edward has, but I'm all-too-familiar with sadness of the soul, with sorrow.

How would my heart handle being crushed by him a second time? Would it break me for good?

I should probably be used to disappointment in my life by now, I suppose. It might seem like I've dealt with a lot of neglect and betrayal from my mama over the years—and I have—but the thing is, I've never expected anything else from her. At first, I thought her behavior was normal, so I didn't question it. And even after learning some parents are loving and attentive, I just accepted that she would never be like that. Maybe she's trying to be a little better now, but if this phase doesn't last, I probably won't care much.

I gave up on her long ago.

Edward, however, is another story. Opening myself to him again would be like handing over a dagger and hoping he doesn't use it on me as I lean in for a kiss.

I can't deny that the temptation to take the risk is overwhelming, though. I want to give our friendship another chance. I _want_ to trust him.

The question is: can I?

 _Should I?_

My better judgment, my sense of self-preservation, says "probably not."

But then, I haven't ever been able to trust anyone, not really. Is it right to expect more from an almost-fifteen-year-old with a horrible history than people more than twice his age? Than my own mama?

I wouldn't call myself a brave person. I learned early on it works best for me to keep quiet and out of sight. Still, I don't shy away from doing what needs to be done. Maybe that's a kind of bravery? I don't know about that.

What I _do_ know is that, despite his terrible mistake, I never stopped loving Edward. Such a thing isn't even possible. So I either need to accept the fact that I'm the one not giving him another chance and then get over my jealousy, or I need to take some sort of action, let him know that there's still hope for us.

Hope.

That tingly feeling of anticipation that fizzed to life as I sat beside the fence now begins to bubble through my veins.

Maybe…what if…?

A plan takes shape in the back of my head, but before I can fully acknowledge it, there's one last thing I need to do.

-o-o-o-o-o-

 _March 21_

 _Bella,_

 _A whole week. I made it. I wanted to send you a letter as soon as I got home, but Rose thought it would be better if I waited and got settled before writing. She said patience is something I don't have much of. I asked her what was the fastest way I could get it, haha._

 _When I first came home from the Center, it felt like I'd been gone forever, even though it was only three weeks. I was actually surprised to see that nothing much had changed in the outside world. I sort of expected it to be different somehow._

 _Maybe that's because I think I'm different. Not a whole lot, but enough that I can tell. I don't feel as much like I'm always one step away from losing it while trying to act normal on the outside. My head's…quieter?...if that makes any sense. I'm still scared and worried and sad a lot, but it's not as bad as before. I can usually work through it, and if not, I'm getting better about talking to someone. And luckily, there's plenty of people I can talk to._

 _I need to remember to thank everyone in the family more. They really do feel like my actual family now, which is a little sad sometimes when I think about Mom, but mostly really great. I can talk to different people depending on how I'm doing. Cee always cheers me up and makes me laugh. She can be a little too touchy-feely (don't tell her I said that!), but then again, sometimes that's exactly what works to make me feel better. Rose is the one I can count on to tell me the cold, hard truth, even if I don't want to hear it. And I don't have to tell you how Emmett's the action man, lol. The second I bring up a problem, he's coming up with 12 ways to solve it! It's a good thing Jasper's so chill. Him and Rose really are the yins to Cee and Emmett's yangs!_

 _And then there's Carlisle. He's sort of like all of them at once, but also really steady and understanding. I can't believe how much I hated him at first! I was so dumb—about that and a bunch of other things. Remember when I wanted to live in the streets rather than stay with him? Now I can't imagine him not being in my life. He's like…an actual dad for me. You think he'd freak out if I called him that? I wouldn't want him to think I was trying to take the place of his little girl who didn't make it. :(_

 _Anyway, my point is that I trust him to take care of me. I was nervous about going back to school right away, but he let me stay home last week. Even better, he took me with him to work and let me go out to job sites. I even got to learn how to draw landscape designs on his computer! It was a lot of fun. I almost wanted to ask Cee if I could do homeschooling again and maybe spend some time during the day at the business, but I can see how busy spring is for them. And Cee's taking care of Merr, too. Rose helps out whenever she can. Soon she'll have her own baby, though._

 _Today was my first day back to Hickory, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. Cole had stopped by the house the first week I was at the Center, and Carlisle told him that I was having some trouble adjusting to all the changes in my life. He didn't say anything about what I did to you or that I was in a psych hospital. When I first heard what he told Cole, I said I deserved for everyone to know the truth about how terrible I was to you. But he thought that was a bad idea, and the rest of the family agreed. They said only bad things could come out of telling other people…and some of the bad might be really bad._

 _So basically, I just repeated what Carlisle told Cole to everyone who asked me questions. I mostly avoided Cole and his gang, though I did hang out with Scott during lunch. He wasn't with the others at the party—not that I blame them for what happened. I could've said no to the drinks they handed out, and it's not their fault I had to deal with so much crap from my dad. That's one of the things they told us at the Center. Take responsibility for your actions. And then learn from them._

 _I'm trying to learn, Bella. I really am. That's why, even though the thing I want most right now is to run out the door and try to remember which buses will get me to your house, I'm not gonna to chase after you like that. Yeah, I want to be with you any way you'll let me, even if it's only as friends, because it feels like there's a part of me missing now that I don't see you anymore. But I know you shouldn't give me another chance because you feel guilty or just don't want me to be sad. It has to be because you want to. Because you CHOOSE to._

 _So I have to respect that. I'll probably write another letter or two since they're not as in-your-face as emails, but if it doesn't look like you've found them after a while, I'll try emailing you. I gotta admit, at this point, sending an email scares me because it'll be more certain that you see it. At least with letters, I can still hold onto hope that they haven't been read and then set on fire or something._

 _Here's to waiting and hoping…_

 _Yours forever,_

 _Edward_

 _p.s. – I love you._

 _-o-o-o-o-o-_

Yesterday.

Edward wrote this letter yesterday.

He's home now, he's thinking of me, and there wasn't a single mention of _her_.

Ha, guess she's not so important after all.

And maybe I overreacted...just a little bit.

But then again, maybe my _slightly_ irrational jealousy wasn't such a bad thing. It did turn the idea of Edward moving on into a real, concrete possibility in my head, and the resulting sick feeling in my heart was strong enough to knock me off the fence I'd been mindlessly straddling—the figurative fence, of course. That painful ache made it clear that I don't want to let him go. It told me that I'd regret not giving him another chance.

Edward says he won't pressure me anymore. He says he'll wait forever.

But I don't need forever to decide.

I've made my choice.


	37. Chapter 37

**Life's been so busy, but I really want to finish this fic soon. Here's an EPOV outtake I wrote to get my head back in the game.**

* * *

 **Chapter 37 - EPOV Outtake**

It's still dark outside, and the alarm clock says 4:59 a.m. I groan and pull the pillow over my head.

 _Proverbs 20:13 Love not sleep, lest thou come to poverty; open thine eyes, and thou shalt be satisfied with bread._

Even though it's been months since I lived with _him_ , I can still hear that harsh voice in my head, quoting scripture and screaming at me for committing sins against God—which, to him, was something I did pretty much every hour of the day. And sometimes before I even woke up. I don't remember how old I was when he first started coming into my room in the mornings and throwing me out of bed, saying lazy children who slept in were spoiled and didn't get breakfast, but the hour seemed to get earlier and earlier as I got older. By the time I was eight, my body woke itself up by 4:55 so I could make the bed before he came stomping into my room. 'Course, even then, there weren't many days when I managed to get to the kitchen table without punishment of one kind or another.

 _Proverbs 13:24_ _He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes._

Ha. If I go by that, he must have loved me a _lot_.

Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I try to go back to sleep. But twenty minutes later, I know it's a lost cause. Every part of me is tense, just waiting for that slap of the belt on my chest or the thud of his boot in my side.

The only thing to do is get up, even though my alarm won't go off until seven. Carlisle's a light sleeper, so I don't go to the living room to watch TV. Instead, I grab my phone and flop down onto a big bean bag chair on the floor.

There probably won't be anything interesting on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter, but I check them first, anyway. As I figured, it's all a bunch of stuff I don't care about. A lot of the guys are talking about basketball. March Madness is going on right now, and it looks like Grant is doing the best with his bracket so far. Mine's not too bad, even though I had no idea what I was doing when I filled it out. I pretty much just went with whatever team had the higher ranking.

Other than that, most of the posts and tweets are from the girls. Jenna always puts up at least three animal videos a day, and Kirstie updates every time she does, well, anything. Like I really want to see a picture of her burrito from Taco Bell. Holly just started going out with Tyreese, so there's a lot of selfies of them all over my feed. I scroll through those as fast as I can. Food pics might be annoying, but happy-couple posts are a hundred times worse.

Mostly since I can't post any of my own.

The last thing I always check on my phone is email, and that's because I want to hope as long as I can that _this_ is the time a message will finally be waiting for me in my Inbox. I want just another few minutes of calm before I see there's only a bunch of spam, before I get that horrible sick feeling in my stomach, before I start beating myself up for ruining things with the person I care about most in the world.

Maybe it's wrong to feel that way—that Bella's more important to me than Carlisle or Mary Alice or even my mom—but it's true. She's the one that was always there for me, no matter what. For almost as long as I can remember, Bella was just the about the only good thing in my life. Talking to her through the fence, passing messages back and forth, reading the "forbidden" books she let me borrow—those were the happy times that got me through all the bad ones.

I don't know what I would've done without her back then. And I have no idea how I'm going to be okay without her now. I wasn't kidding when I told her I'd planned on us getting married someday. Thinking about a future together was one of my favorite daydreams during the long hours I spent with my dad at church prayer meetings. I imagined we'd have a family life completely different from the one I knew. There'd be laughing and hugging and loving, instead of yelling and beating. I'd be a kind and forgiving dad to my kids, one who liked to have fun with them, too. We'd go to parks and zoos and do all that stuff that some of the other families at my church did.

And as far as being _with_ Bella, well…

When we were young kids, I pictured us running away from our parents and having lots of exciting adventures out in the real world. But as we grew up and things started changing between us, I began to think more about holding her hand and putting my arm around her or maybe even kissing her on the lips.

When those things actually happened, I was on top of the world.

For a while, it felt like my life was finally getting better. Yeah, when my mom died, I started having panic attacks and missed her so much—I still do—but every day was just a little easier to get through than the one before. My nightmares got less intense, and the anxiety attacks didn't happen as often or last as long as they did those first few weeks after the funeral. I met Cole, decided to try going to school, and somehow got in with one of the really popular groups there. Best of all, I had Bella as my girlfriend.

Then, in one terrible night, I screwed up everything.

I know now that I was getting a lot of things wrong in our relationship even before I did…what I did to her. But if I could pick only one thing to change, it would be going to that stupid party. If I hadn't gone, I wouldn't have had anything to drink…and I wouldn't have gotten advice from the guys…and I wouldn't have come up with the horrible plan to "obligate" myself to Bella, as if that could somehow shut up the voices of James and _him_ that just wouldn't leave me alone…and then I wouldn't be sitting here now, feeling sick and light-headed over how I much I wish I could undo the biggest mistake of my life…

 _Stop_.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head and take a deep breath to calm down before a panic attack comes on. I remind myself that the past is over and it won't do me any good to get stuck in it. Like they taught me at the Center, I try to focus on the feeling of whatever my hands are touching in order to ground my thoughts to my body.

This happens to be my phone, so I run my fingers along the smooth edges of the case. I concentrate on every detail—the width, the curves at the corners, the imperfect texture. My thumb finds a small nick at the top, and I smile at the memory of how it got there. Bella had borrowed my phone one day to look something up on the web after hers ran out of battery. When she tried to toss it back to me, she missed by a mile and bounced it off the leg of Rosalie's coffee table. I couldn't help laughing at Bella's terrible aim. Rose didn't think it was all that funny at the time, but for Christmas, she gave Bella a Nerf basketball and hoop so she could practice her aim.

The sound of a shower starting tells me that Carlisle's woken up. I climb out of the bean bag chair and stretch. While there's still part of a smile on my face from thinking about Bella, the pain in my chest from missing her is just as bad as ever. I sigh and go to get dressed. At least I didn't have a panic attack, so that's a good thing.

Twenty minutes later, I'm in the kitchen making eggs and bacon when Carlisle walks in. He's wearing khakis and a long-sleeved polo shirt with the CBW Landscaping logo on front pocket since he'll probably be meeting with clients. The weather's been pretty warm for the end of March, and people are already starting to line up their spring projects.

"'Morning," he says, going over to the cabinets to take out some plates. "Smells good."

"Thanks," I mumble, concentrating on stirring the scrambled eggs so they don't burn. I'm not exactly a morning person, but I probably should've made more of an effort today. Then maybe I could've filled the time up with random conversation instead of the subject Carlisle brings up next.

"So," he says a little too casually, "are you all set for school?"

My body freezes for a second, then I shake off a jolt of anxiety and start to turn over the bacon.

"Yeah, I'm good."

I try to sound as chill as possible. But the concerned expression on Carlisle's face makes me think I wasn't able to pull it off.

"It's not a big deal if you don't go back today," he replies, filling up two glasses with orange juice and setting them on the table. "There's no reason to rush into things if you're not ready."

I'm about to tell him again that I'm fine, but the words get stuck in my throat. I can almost hear Dr. Anderson's annoyingly calm and patient voice saying that holding back my feelings won't make them go away. It will only give them a chance to build up and make them that much harder to deal with later. I know he's got a point, but then, I also wonder if he has any idea how hard it is to open up after years of getting hit if you talked about stuff like that.

Carlisle pretends to be caught up in making a sandwich for his lunch while I figure out how to start. He's good about knowing when not to push, and I'm thankful for that.

It's not until the food's on the table and we're sitting down that I give my answer another try.

"I don't know if I'm ready to go back," I finally admit, "but I don't think it's going to get any easier if I wait."

"No?"

"Well…seeing them again—everyone that went to the party, that's gonna be hard," I sigh. "And I'm worried that others at school will find out what I did and think I'm a terrible person. But then again, they _should_ think I'm a terrible person after how I—"

"Edward," Carlisle interrupts. "You're _not_ a terrible person."

Huffing, I wave my hand in the air to stop our argument before it begins. We've had it a lot in the past month. "Okay, fine. I'm just a messed up kid who made a terrible, awful, unforgivable mistake. Better?"

His deep frown is almost a scowl, but he doesn't say anything. After a few seconds of tense silence, I pick up where I left off.

"So anyway, part of me wants to hide from everybody because of that, but another part wants to run up to the guys and yell at them. I want to blame them for letting me have all those drinks and talking about, uh…doing _stuff_ to girls and then putting stupid ideas in my head. Yeah, I _know_ it's all on me—that what happened wasn't their fault—but it'd be so much easier if even a little bit was."

My whole body sags in my seat. I feel like there's a thousand pounds of sadness and guilt weighing me down. Sometimes I wonder if it'll ever go away. Sometimes I think that it'd only be right if it didn't.

Carlisle's hand on my shoulder makes me jump. I hadn't even noticed that he'd moved.

"Why don't we hold off on school for another day or two? You could come into work with me again. I'm sure Jas could use some extra hands in the maintenance shed. Of course, Cee might grab you to answer the phones so she and Merr can order _another_ twelve outfits from Gymboree." He shakes his head and smiles lightly.

I can't help but snort at the thought. Thanks to Cynthia, Mary Alice probably has enough clothes to wear a new outfit every day for the next year. Jasper was saying the other day how he had to put a new shelving unit in the garage just to hold all of her tiny shoe boxes.

And just like that, I'm feeling a little lighter. I give Carlisle a grateful look and then clench my jaw in determination. I might not deserve all the support and love of my new family, but I won't take it for granted. Wallowing in shame isn't going to make me a better person, and neither is hiding from my fears.

"I want to go," I say in a clear, even voice. "I _need_ to go."

He doesn't miss a beat as he nods and picks up his fork.

"I'll give you a ride. Be ready to go at a quarter 'til."

* * *

As expected, I'm really paranoid walking though the school halls again. It seems like the same as before I left, like nothing's different. But that almost makes it worse because I _am_ different. It feels like my whole world has changed, and they don't have a clue.

Cole is surprised to see me at the lockers. But his smile comes quick as he holds his closed hand out for me to bump.

"I didn't know you were coming in today," he says in his usual upbeat way. "Good to see ya back, E."

"Thanks," I mutter, barely touching my limp fist to his. It's the best I can do, considering I have the slight urge to shove it in his stomach.

If he's bothered by my unenthusiastic response—or even notices—he doesn't show it. Instead, he throws an arm over my shoulders and leans into me, managing to screw up my attempt to open my combination lock in the process.

"So, did ya get your shit straightened out while you were gone?" he asks in a sly stage whisper. "Hope you were able to put in plenty of time on the Xbox so you stop sucking so bad."

Annoyed, I jerk my shoulders away from him and throw open my locker door with a bang.

 _Yeah, like_ that _was high on my list of stuff I cared about during the last four weeks._

But Cole takes my actions the wrong way and laughs.

"Oh, come on. I was just playin' with ya. You're pretty decent for someone who didn't even know what Xbox was a few months ago." He shakes his head in disbelief. "It's crazy how you grew up without any normal stuff. I would've cracked and gone ballistic on my dad long before you did, that's for sure."

I grab my books out of my locker as fast I can and slam the door shut.

"I gotta get to class," I spit out, glad that we're going in opposite directions.

"Yeah, me too." He punches me lightly in the arm. "Catcha later."

The hallway is crowded with other students making their way to class. A bunch of people I know—and some I don't—call out to me as I pass them. I try to smile and answer back, but what I really want is to be left alone. Maybe Carlisle was right. Maybe I should've taken more time off.

Social Studies is my first class of the day, and it's hard to pay attention to the teacher's boring voice. My mind wanders, and as usual, I find myself thinking about Bella. I wonder how her classes are going and whether she ever thinks about me during school, too. Does she miss me, even a little? Maybe today will finally be the day she decides to get in touch with me. I mean, we're going to talk _some_ day, right?

That dark, suffocating pressure builds up in my chest again, but luckily, the bell rings and snaps me out of my fog. As I walk to English, I remind myself that I need to be patient. Bella's got every right to hate me, and it might take her a long time before she wants to talk to me again. And...if she never does, well…there's no point in thinking about that now. I'll just get all worked up, and that doesn't help anything. If I can't learn to deal with my emotions in a healthy way, I'll never have another shot with her.

Huh. I guess some of the stuff they talked about during my time at The Center actually stuck with me.

There's a substitute teacher for English, and this turns out to be a bad thing for me. We're supposed to talk over Shakespeare questions in small groups, but I get Kirsten and a girl named Bethany as discussion partners. And all they want to discuss is _me_.

"It's so great that you're back," Bethany gushes the second we're turned loose to work. "Hickory just wasn't the same without you."

"Yeah, _every_ body at Hickory missed you," Kirsten says, smirking at Bethany. Then she looks at me. "So, how's your _girlfriend_ doing? Bella, right?"

Just when I'd thought I was doing better, her words stab me in the heart. I don't want to answer, but the truth would come out sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.

"Uh, we're not together anymore," I mumble into the worksheet in front of me. "So, about question number one…"

"You two broke up?" Kirsten gasps, ignoring the assignment completely. "Oh, Edward, I'm so sorry. It happened after the game with Northern, didn't it? Jessie said she saw you two fighting outside Primo's." Her eyes get wide, and she grabs my wrist. "Oh my god, is that why you were out of school? Cole said it was because of the stuff that happened with your dad, but I know how tough breakups can be. When Chad and I split up last summer, I couldn't get out of bed for, like, a week."

Barely controlling my rising anger, I slide my arm away from her and stick my hand under the desk so she can't go after it again. "Yeah, it's been rough. Anyway, back to King Lear, number one wants us to—"

"Wow, I can't believe you're single now," Kirsten goes on, talking right over me. "So, is there anyone else you're interested in? I know it hasn't been long since you broke up, but there are a bunch of girls that have been _dying_ to go out with you."

She glances at Bethany again, who has this weird look on her face like she's trying to smile at me while also scowling at Kirsten. I'd think it was funny if I wasn't so disgusted by the idea of being with anyone other than Bella.

"No, there isn't anybody," I reply, practically growling at her.

Thank goodness Bethany seems to pick up on my bad mood. She elbows Kirsten in the side and taps her pencil on the worksheet.

"Come on, Kirstie, we need to get this done," she insists. "My grade in this class sucks."

I give her a grateful look, which makes her light up like a Christmas tree. She scoots her desk a little closer and leans over my arm to read the first question. Her knee bumps into mine, and she apologizes with a breathy giggle.

 _Great._

The end of the period can't come soon enough, and I'm out the door a few seconds after the bell rings. I'm glad when no one else tries to talk to me during the next two classes. It gives me a chance to calm down before lunch.

I normally sat with Grant and other freshmen on the J.V. lacrosse team before I took time off school, but I don't feel up to dealing with them today. There's an empty seat at a table with Scott and some of his friends, so I head in that direction.

"Hey, what's up?" Scott says with a friendly grin when I pull out the chair across from him. "Me and Ben were just talking about the Georgia Tech game tonight. I think they're gonna crush South Carolina."

They go back and forth with their predictions and talk about the college basketball games that happened over the weekend. I don't say much, happy enough to listen without feeling any pressure to speak. But when lunch is over and we're getting up from the table, Scott turns to me with a hesitant expression.

"Hey, I just wanted to say…well, there were a lot of rumors going around, but I know it's usually just a bunch of crap, so…anyway, I hope things are okay with you, and if you ever want to talk or whatever…" He trails off and readjusts his backpack over his shoulder while staring at the ground.

"Uh, thanks," I reply, just as uncomfortable as he is. But I really do appreciate his offer and feel like I need to tell him that. "I'm still working on some issues with everything that happened in the past, and there's some other stuff I'm dealing with, too…" I take a deep breath and then let it out quickly. I might as well tell him since I'm sure it'll be around school before long. "Bella broke up with me, and that wrecked me for a while. I totally deserved it, so I get why she won't talk to me, but it's still hard, you know? We went through _so_ much together, and she's my best friend, so…yeah, it's been tough."

"Damn, that sucks," he says sympathetically as we move off toward our math class. "I know you two were tight. Maybe…maybe she just needs some more time? My mom and dad divorced each other and then got back together after a year, so maybe there's still hope? I mean, not saying it's the same situation, 'cuz it's not, but what I mean is that…well, you never know how it might turn out, and…anything's possible, so…" He blows out a gust of air and groans. "I'm not helping at all, am I? I'll just shut up now."

He looks really upset, and for some reason, it makes me laugh.

"No, it's all good. I get what you're saying, and…you're right. It really hasn't been all that long, and there _is_ still hope. My, uh, therapist says I shouldn't try to contact her, at least for a while, but, um…I've actually been writing her letters that my aunt leaves in a hidden spot Bella and I used to go to. Last time Cee checked, they were still there, but that was days ago, so…"

"Old-fashioned letters, huh? With pen and paper and all that?" Scott nudges me with his elbow. "Nice move. I don't know how girls think, but that sounds kinda…romantic, maybe? Hopefully she finds them soon, and they win you some brownie points or something."

"Yeah. I need all I can get," I say, only half joking with him.

"When's the last time you wrote one?"

"Well, it was just before I left—" I pause, not wanting anyone to know about my stay at the Daniels Psych Center. "Uh, I mean, I think it was a week and a half ago. There was only one letter before that. I've really been wanting to write another one, but I don't want her to think I'm creepy and desperate." I make a sarcastic noise in the back my throat. "Of course, I _am_ desperate, and probably a little creepy. I'm trying hard to change all that, though, I swear."

"Good for you. That's got to count for something, too, right?"

I shrug, and we walk together in silence the rest of the way until we get to the classroom door. Before we go in, he stops to look at me. "So let's see, a week and half is, what, ten days? That seems like a decent amount of time to me. I don't think it'd be too creepy if you went ahead and wrote her another letter."

"Yeah?" A flash of excitement runs through me at the thought of it. I want to rip out a sheet of paper from my notebook and get started right away.

"Yeah, I think you should go for it. Hell, I bet she'd like that you're putting in the effort. Just try not to sound too desperate." He smirks at me. "And maybe don't do it during class. We're reviewing for the test today."

I guess my eagerness was really obvious.

"Ugh, I forgot about that," I grumble, not being able to help pouting like a little kid.

Scott just laughs and goes through the doorway.

I suffer through the longest math class in the history of math classes and fidget all through biology. As soon as the bus lets me off at my stop, I race down the street and nearly drop my keys twice as I hurry to unlock the front door. I'm pretty sure Cynthia is stopping by my old house in the morning to drop off more sale flyers, so I need to have the letter ready by the time we go over to her place for dinner.

After a quick text to let Carlisle know I made it home okay, I sit at my desk and try to calm down. My anxiousness has been building all afternoon, and I don't know why, but I have a really good feeling about the letter I'm going to write. Though it might have been an up-and-down kind of day, I want to focus on the good. There's a lot of bad stuff in my past, but that doesn't mean my future can't be better.

I just really, really hope that Bella's a part of it.

With a hand that shakes only a little, I start to write.

 _March 21_

 _Bella,_

 _A whole week. I made it…_


End file.
